


The Danseur and The Masseur

by Foxberry



Series: Movement and Desire [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Boners, Ballet Dancer Lance, Blow Jobs, Booty Calls, Come Shot, Confessions, Dancer Lance (Voltron), Danseur Lance, Domestic Boyfriends, Face-Fucking, First Dates, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Fuckbuddies To Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Innuendo, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Massage, Masseur Hunk, Phone Sex, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Squishing, Strangers to Lovers, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-09-03 20:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8728408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxberry/pseuds/Foxberry
Summary: Stressed out from his first week with a new ballet company, Lance books a massage and finds himself smitten by the masseur, Hunk.





	1. The Full Package

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on [the original twitter thread](https://twitter.com/particlebarrier/status/783887865759404032) that I started just over a month ago. It was only meant to be one entertaining scene full of innuendo based on one of my own experiences but it turned into so much more.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has supported the story so far. Special thanks to Laurel and Kai for betaing and to Reba for a lot of inspiration and support. I only hope I can make the fic version that much more enjoyable.
> 
> As you can see from the tags, there is a LOT to look forward to! And already ten chapters partially written.

The week has been long and hard for Lance McClain. His first week at his new ballet company has made its mark on him with a deep-set fatigue and an ache to his bones. It isn’t just the new routines or getting used to new rehearsal hours. It’s also the constant introductions to new people and having to remember everything while putting his body through their tests, leaving him worn out and weary.

Rewarding himself for simply getting through the first week, he books an impromptu massage at the local beauty salon. It’s a small place with a strange name that seems nice enough with its wooden and marble interior. He’s never been there before despite walking by it several times in the last few months. All he really needs is someone to press all of the stress out of his muscles and make the aches go away. That’s all. That’s all he wants.

When he turns up for his appointment, ready and willing, he strolls in with a grin and waves to the woman behind the counter he assumes will be his masseuse for the day. Her hair is a soft silver white, cascading down over her shoulders in waves, framing the delicate features of her face and the bright smile she greets him with.

"Good afternoon, Sir. Have you made an appointment?" she asks with a chipper voice and a tilt of her head. She’s the perfect image of what Lance had expected he would find here and it feels a relief on its own to know there’ll be few surprises here.

Lance worms his hands into his pockets and oscillates back and forth on his feet. "Y-yeah, under the name McClain." He hopes she doesn’t recognise his name. It’s only been a few weeks since he moved here and ballet dancers, especially male ones, aren’t likely to get recognised by their surnames alone. He hopes that his stint with his former ballet company hasn’t earned him a name here, yet.

Thankfully, she merely smiles and nods. "Ah! There you are. You’re a little early." She even hands him a clipboard with a quaint flourish and asks, "Have you been here before?" Her bright blue eyes pierce through him and she continues before he has a chance to speak, "All you have to do is fill this out and someone will be with you shortly."

He winks and grins before turning away, certain that probably makes him look equally cool and dorky. He pushes down the feeling when he takes a seat on the cushy sofa by the front desk. The questions before him read like the usual medical forms, so Lance ticks and writes wherever applicable before the woman comes to take it from him. All he wants is for someone to rub him better. The form doesn’t have anything like that written anywhere.

Finally looking up, he catches the sight of a tall, burly man approaching him. The man smiles from the white of his teeth to the shine in his eyes and all Lance can do is gulp. He has to be at least twice Lance’s size, with thick arms framed by a white business shirt pushed up to his elbows and broad shoulders that eclipse his own. His pants fit him immaculately, pressed neatly and brushing the top of his matching leather shoes. His whole being shines from within, and it takes Lance blinking a lot to be able to take in the first words that he hears.

"My name is Hunk, and I'll be taking care of you today." The man's too big and handsome to be his masseur. He’d come in expecting a woman, any woman, not this man that seems to speak in a way that makes his heart beat faster. Hunk’s even eyeing him up with a squint. Lance already feels weak and the guy hasn't touched him yet.

Lance is used to handsome men and pretty women. Being part of a ballet company means meeting and working with many attractive, fit, and physically talented people. He’s used to them dancing with him, around him, but this man, he’s genuine and soft but still built and... thick. Lance struggles to put together in his head all the reasons he feels so drawn to this stranger.

"Lance," he squeaks and finally shakes the hand he realises is in front of him. It’s bigger than his own and could probably crush him. He stares at how thick those fingers are, how they fit around his own hand. Lance can’t believe how warm his hand feels, and immediately wonders if he feels cold and clammy in comparison.

Vaguely Lance can feel the hand squeezing his own before he’s snapped back out of his thoughts by a deep, friendly voice. "You can have your hand back if you want it," Hunk laughs, and tilts his head as he shrugs. "Unless you want me to keep holding it?"

Lance immediately snatches back his hand like something bit him. That’s embarrassing. That’s really embarrassing. Hunk’s going to think that he’s weird, probably, but Hunk surprises him by simply blinking slowly as if nothing happened. He hasn’t even reacted beyond gesturing behind him to a place behind the counter.

"Please follow me," the handsome masseur suggests with a sweep of his hand towards the back of the front room. Before Lance can answer, Hunk leads the way out back through a frosted door and a cramped hallway to a tiny room with a sliding door. Every part of what Lance sees is some shade of pleasant brown, mixed with hints of marble and dark wood.

The room is filled by a dim light from the ceiling, cabinets in the corner, and a massage table in the middle covered in sheets. It’s cramped and strangely intimate. Soothing music is already playing from a speaker in the corner. Lance could get used to a room like this, but then he realises he’s sharing this room with Hunk.

Lance nervously takes a seat on the table and fiddles with his hands in his lap. The sheets look so pristine and fresh in their array of folds around his knees. "I need whatever is going to relax me." So far, Lance only feels more and more tense as he watches Hunk move silently from cabinet to cabinet to get things ready.

"The full package?" Hunk replies at first without looking Lance’s way. He’s already deep into the cupboard, humming as he pulls out a few things here and there, and when he seems satisfied he turns to wait an answer. He clasps his big hands before his stomach with such a patient look on his face, fingers moving and pressing into his own skin as if getting ready.

Lance has no idea what he means and nods slowly. His face might be blushing already. It certainly feels warmer just thinking about all the things a full package could mean. Thankfully Hunk doesn’t seem to notice, not even when Lance’s eyes dart south. His attention seems to be moving around the room.

"W-we don't do happy endings. So we're clear." Hunk can't seem to look Lance in the eye for a second. His fingers keep fiddling in front of him while his shoulders shrug and he twists his body to get back to work. He nervously adds more after clearing his throat. "But you should, uh, leave happy... if you know what you want."

Lance watches as Hunk moves across the room in front of him. Somehow in the small space he seems to move with a mixture of grace and care despite his frame. Lance has to stop himself from staring. He needs to say something. "What do you do best?" That seems harmless enough, casual enough, easy enough to hide the fact Lance might just be checking him out.

Hunk thinks for a second and turns the room lights down low before moving back to the cupboards in the corner. "Have you ever had a facial?" he asks casually, once again not looking at Lance and setting everything up like the professional he is. The mood lighting of the room only serves to highlight his physique, his arms and face glistening.

 Lance nearly falls off the table as Hunk digs into one of the cupboards. "I... Uhh..." Holy shit. Lance doesn't know how to answer that. "Not a professional one," Lance adds nervously. He should shut up. That’s not how you answer that question. That’s way too much information. "Guess you can show me what I'm missing out on." He should really shut up.

Hunk falters for a second, hand opening jars and gathering tools. Something rattles and falls over. His hands swoop to catch something about to roll off the edge. He’s silent for a few more moments, staring down at his wares. "That's -- so, what do you want in a facial? I mean -- how do you want your skin?" He opens the next cabinet and squats down to wait for the answer, peering inside with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Um." Lance is too busy watching Hunk's arms busying themselves preparing things. "Soft? Smooth? Nice to... touch?" Not burning hot and pink. Like his own face is now. Perhaps he just described Hunk. He looks plenty soft and smooth -- and Lance has to sit on his hands when he thinks of how it might be nice to touch him too.

"Easily done." Hunk grins like he finally figured something out. Lance can't help but smile too. Hunk seems so reassuring in his tone and his body language that the nerves don’t feel so bad. He reaffirms what Lance wants with a gentle smile and quick once-over. "So full body massage and a facial, yeah?"

Lance gulps and bites back the urge to blurt out something really inappropriate. He goes with his next best option. "Where do you want me?" He wiggles in place, sheets shuffling with him. His legs still feel the ache of a week’s rehearsals and exercises, but now there’s a numbness from sitting on the edge of the table, too. He feels it the most when he slides down off it and his feet hit the floor.

Hunk turns to him, gesturing in circles and nodding towards the door as he speaks. "I'm going to go get a few things. I'll get you to take off your shirt... and your pants if you're comfortable enough." His hands keep moving, pausing to gesture to Lance, then over to the edge of the massage table. "Then just pop under those sheets and lie with your face up. You can put all your clothes in the basket by the door. I won't be too long." Hunk leaves the room with a slight nod, sliding the door behind him when he leaves.

Lance stands there and lets what he was told sink in. He swallows the dryness in his throat and takes off his shirt. His heart is racing at the idea of undressing in this tiny room. He thinks he's reasonably comfortable enough to remove his pants. Of course he is. He slides them off, too, and puts them and his shirt in the basket.

Standing in his underwear, he wonders if Hunk meant all his clothes. The masseur was specific about his shirt and pants, but maybe he’s meant to remove his underwear, too, since Hunk said to put 'all his clothes' in the basket? Lance shrugs, removes his underwear, and tosses them in as well. He's going to be under the sheet anyway. It's not going to matter. Taking a deep breath, he dives under the sheets of the massage table then lies back to rest his shoulders on the massage mat and his head on a fresh towel.

Lance can hear the soft fall of footsteps as they reach the door, but it’s not until he hears Hunk’s voice does he realise the man is back. "Are you ready?" Hunk asks with a knock. The door shakes at the touch of his knuckles.

Lance quickly pulls the sheets over himself, bunching them over his crotch just to be sure. "Y-yeah." Nothing should show through the white sheets...  not with two layers and all of that bulk. Lance'll be fine if he just relaxes. Even if he _is_ … naked.

Hunk enters the room with a smile and a collection of supplies in his large hands. "I think I've got everything I need. Are you comfortable?" Lance only manages to nod rapidly in response. He’s too busy taking note of how much Hunk can hold in those hands of his. 

Hunk works for a bit, placing everything down, before turning around to examine Lance's face from behind the table. He leans to pore over the details of Lance’s face for a while, biting his lip momentarily in thought. "I'm going to turn the lights down more and make sure this is as relaxing as possible." When he passes this time, he pats Lance's cheek, light and oddly affectionate, before he turns the lights down lower.

Hunk returns to the place behind Lance’s head, out of sight unless he cranes his head back to watch. He feels like an odd experiment and struck between wanting to ramble off everything in his head or to make the first sounds that want to come out of his mouth. Lance somehow finds a happy medium.

"Sounds great," Lance squawks and tries desperately not to think of how the music Hunk starts playing will make him putty in those hands. The music before had been perfectly fine but this music is more sensual, more soothing, more designed for someone to listen to if they’re about to be rubbed all over.

"First I'm going to prep the skin. Just close your eyes and relax," Hunk soothes before putting something warm and wet on Lance's face. Hesitantly, Lance closes his eyes and lets his masseur do his job. Hunk works a cleanser over the skin, massaging in small circles. It feels silky as it glides across his face, and Lance can’t help but notice how smooth Hunk’s hands are, too.

"Have you done this job for a while?" Lance struggles to make small talk. He's already breathing in deeply, hoping he actually looks relaxed. He has every intention of keeping his eyes closed and drifting off into sleep, but part of him wants to be present and awake for anything his masseur does.

He can hear the smile in Hunk's voice when he answers, "For a time. I guess. I like it." His hands push and pull at the skin, rubbing his thumb over parts of Lance’s face like he’s wiping away tears and worry and stress. He pays careful attention over the forehead, rubbing up under the chin, and pulling everything up in a way that makes Lance shiver.

Lance wonders briefly whether Hunk can see him gulping, if he can see the slightly amused smirk growing on his face. His tone is playful with a hint of cautious anticipation. "You like rubbing people?" It certainly feels like he does. The question is entirely Lance’s self-indulgent curiosity.

Hunk laughs. "Sure." He doesn’t deny it, much to Lance’s surprise. His laughter sounds ridiculously warm, so much more than his voice already does. It puts the calming music they talk over to shame.

Hunk actually laughed at his joke... or is Hunk laughing at him? Lance decides to test this out for sure. "What do you like rubbing most?" He puts as much teasing into his voice as he can manage, wiggling his toes when he realises he is still very much naked under the sheet. His mind is already going down south.

Hunk snorts but doesn't answer the question. "Now I'm going to take that off." He grabs a warm damp towel and places it over Lance's face. He presses it in gently before wiping away the cleanser. "I don't talk about my favourites."

"So you do have some." Lance grins up at Hunk. Even as the towel wipes off across his face, Lance’s expression doesn’t change. He’s too enamoured by this conversation, the hints and the teases and the slight glimpses of who this man really is, to do anything else.

Hunk throws the towel aside with the sound of a soft wet side behind the both of them. "And if I told you, you'd be disappointed and we wouldn't want that." Hunk continues to work, now guiding two damp cotton pads over Lance's skin. There’s a tense flirtation to his voice, somewhat stern in a way, putting Lance back into his place as a client paying for the service.

Lance teases, "Got to make your clients happy, right?" So far, as a client himself, Lance is pretty happy, and they’ve only just begun. Most of his tension seems to have left for elsewhere.

Hunk slaps a mask down over his face in answer, smoothing it over with a gentle touch. "Going to have use steam for this mask, so let me know if it gets too hot." Hunk drags over a machine and sets it to blow steam at Lance. Warm and wet, it makes the mask tingle when the air caresses his face.

It had already been too hot for Lance for the last few minutes, from the warmth and size of Hunk's hands to the fact he is completely naked. Hunk leaves him in silence while the mask works its magic, leaving Lance's mind to race. He's way in over his head and the massage hasn't started yet.

"Time to stew, then?" Lance asks nervously, feeling like that's exactly what he's doing when he imagines what Hunk might do to him next. His muscles are starting to ache for that touch. He keeps blinking and trying to stay focussed. His heart beats louder and louder as the time for his massage approaches. He needs it.

Hunk leans over, face obscured by steam. "You've really got a mouth on you." Another towel is placed on Lance's face that removes the mask. It’s brisk this time and a little clumsy, punctuated by small huffs of amusement.

"All the better for--" Lance is cut off by the hands on his face, prodding and massaging and making his eyes roll at how good that feels. He makes a slight moan and shivers beneath the sheets. They feel cold against his bare skin as goosebumps trail down his body.

Hunk leans closer to add quietly, "I'm going to oil myself up so we can get into it." There’s such a calm, firm tone to it that Lance has to struggle not to make a sound.

Lance can’t believe they’re about to get into it. No, Hunk is about to get into it. Oh shit. Hunk is going to touch him. Actually touch him. His body. Touching is going to happen. With those hands. On his body. All over it.

"C-cool." Lance checks Hunk isn't watching and peeks under the sheets. Yep, he's almost at half mast. Going nude was a mistake. "I'm ready." Except his body feels entirely ready for something else completely.

Hunk's hands on his body make him jump. They work over the tops of his shoulders, so slick and wet with oil that Lance wants to moan. "Nnnnhh" escapes from his lips when Hunk pushes across his skin and up his neck. He relaxes instantly at the touch. "Goood." He's done for.

Hunk's hands slip suddenly underneath his back, sliding under and lifting him with ease, pressing every muscle with his firm touch. The sound those hands make beneath him sounds so good and so wrong as they dig into muscle and work out the knots. He hadn't expected this. They work up and down, pushing Lance off the mat like he weighs nothing, nudging into sore muscles and making it hurt so good at each rub.

Lance struggles not to vocalise how good it feels to have his stress pushed and pulled out of him. Hunk manages to hit all the right places. The massage works through the tensions and aches, building up a pressure in his body, resisting the urge to respond to the pleasure of it. He finally breaks when Hunk nudges that sensitive spot on his neck. He groans and shudders all at once.

"That good, huh?" Hunk asks, amused. He lets out a long exhale, one longer than Lance thinks is entirely necessary. It shakes for some reason, likely hinting at more laughter at Lance’s expense.

"It... yeah? I move around all day so it's good to... you know..." Lance hopes the dim lights hide his blush. Or the way he wants to moan, or the way he shivers at Hunk’s touch, or the way his very voice makes Lance want to melt into the table.

Hunk grabs his shoulders. "Let loose?" His big hands fit so snugly over the curve of his shoulders that he wishes they could stay there so much longer. Hunk’s pause works perfectly with his wish.

"Exactly! I can't be all wound up." Lance sighs as fingers rub at him again. Hunk moves him with ease, continuing with the same motions that lift him up, push into those deep aches in his muscles, and draw out moan-like sighs. Lance is little more than putty.

"Oh..." Hunk stops and pats lightly to say he's done. "I-I think it's time we... uh... finish you off." He sounds awkward for some reason. His fingers retreat from Lance’s skin, leaving a cold rush of air in their wake. Hunk makes a series of half-formed words and strange sounds. "I'm just gonna... um..." He hurries around to wash his hands and works the last of the facial treatments over Lance's skin in a hurry.

Lance eyebrows furrow for a moment, wondering what's gotten into him, until he opens his eyes and looks down. White sheets don't hide erections well. Lance grabs for every bit of sheet he can and shoves it onto his crotch. He sits up on the massage table and turns to look over his shoulder, wide-eyed. "Uh..."

Hunk audibly gulps and continues with his mouth-sounds until he can manage words. "It's... normal. Don't worry about it." Hunk blushes and looks away, laughing. "You clearly enjoyed it. I'm not... I don't... at work... I..." The nerves cut through his words. His shoulders shrug upwards and somehow makes him look just that little bit smaller, maybe cuter.

Lance thinks back to how innocently Hunk had said 'finish him off' and bites his lip hard. Shit. The guy's cute too. He's not helping at all. "I'm not expecting you to do anything. You said that you don't." Lance feels like he's digging a really big hole. Maybe he can hide in it.

Hunk scratches at his neck. "I can't be unprofessional at work. I don't do... things... for money. But I _can_ tell you I also work at home." He backs away and tilts his head while interlacing his fingers together and moving them nervously. His eyes appear a strange mix of apologetic and hopeful.  

Lance pulls a face, not understanding what Hunk is saying. The masseur that he’s paying to do things is telling him he can’t do more things? He just wants the massage to keep going. The disappointment that his bliss has to stop is evident across his face, but his mouth falls open as he listens.

"This card happens to have my details. I'm very, uh, professional about my job, but if you happened to come by..." Hunk freezes himself this time, looking almost panicked. The card nearly falls from his hand before it gets anywhere near Lance because of all his shaking.  

"No happy endings." Lance thinks he gets it, but he just wants to get out of this room ASAP. He takes it in his hand with a confused look on his face and frowns. He got what Hunk was saying at the beginning but he just has a boner... That’s it. Even Hunk himself said it’s normal. Now he’s getting this card?

Hunk nods. "Not if you're a paying customer." His voice is shaky, warbling with something Lance can’t place. The masseur quickly makes himself look busy by putting a few of his supplies away. They almost fall from his hands with how fast he moves.

Stunned, Lance stares at the card in his hand. He turns it over and over, alternating glances with the pile of sheets bunched up in his lap to hide his erection. He can’t help he really happened to like what Hunk was doing to him.

"I'll give you some time to put your clothes back on." Hunk excuses himself from the room before Lance can say anything else. For the man’s size, he can sure move quickly. The door hits the frame with a clunk on his way out.

Lance dresses with a tremble in his hands. His pants take more effort than normal to get up onto his hips. His shirt clings to the oil on his back. Fully dressed, he sits back on the table and gawks at the card. There's an address and a phone number. Oh god, it's Hunk's home address.

Before he can process what it means, Hunk knocks at the door. "Can I come in?" His voice is hesitant, still nervous and shaking. For someone who said erections are normal, he certainly isn’t acting like it. Lance has to wonder if he did something wrong.

"Y-yeah, I've got clothes on," Lance blurts out and cringes. They feel uncomfortable on him now, put on so quickly that they feel wrong. His erection presses against the fabric. It shouldn't be long before it disappears, not with the feeling that he can stop feeling bubbling up in his chest.

Hunk laughs, relieved, and slides open the door with hesitation. "Good," he says once he is sure Lance is actually fully clothed. "You good?" His eyes still have that nervous look to them, as if worried that he has done something wrong.

Lance chuckles nervously. He's still hard. He's still in the room with the guy that gave him an erection. "F-fine," he squeaks and blushes. He can’t wait to get out of here.

"Good." Hunk smiles and hangs back by the door. This couldn't get any more awkward. "I'm going to get Allura to take over from here for me." He nods backwards towards the hallway in the direction of the reception desk.

"Oh..." That feels like a rejection. Lance can't hide the expression on his face. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say from here. He feels like he’s deflating. His masseur is just handing him over to someone else.

Hunk stutters, gesturing around in circles. "Yeah… I've finished your treatment and have a few things I need to... take care of," he adds quickly, sounding apologetic but unable to look up. He shuffles in place, moving side to side, seemingly unwilling to move.

Lance nods, a lot. "I get it, yeah." He shouldn't feel like this, like he's being thrown out, but he does. He can't help it. "I better go." Lance slips out the door and past Hunk, figuring it’s better if he just leaves first so he’s not shown the door.

He bumps into a tall, slim woman who blocks his way. She smiles down at him and he realises she’s the woman he met earlier. "You must be Lance." Her voice is curt but pleasant when she expresses her surprise.

"So you're Allura then?" Lance tries his best to not sound bitter and hurt, but he's never been good at that. He just wants to hide his face. It’s almost worse that it’s her that Hunk called to take him out. He has to see her anyway but the embarrassment of it still stings. 

She takes him by the arm, firmly but gently. "Come with me, please." Lance gives in to her tugging and follows her to the front desk, head down. "So what did you do?" she asks with a small laugh when they get there. Allura doesn’t seem as concerned as Lance thought she might be.

Lance's eyes dart up. "What do you mean?" Oh god, what did she know? What did Hunk say? Why is she laughing like this? She’s so calm. Lance knows he didn’t really do anything wrong, but he made things awkward and everything since has made him want to hide.

"Generally we pass off people if something goes... awry." She raises an eyebrow at him. "Hunk rarely does it, so you must've done something." Her eyes glance over him, trying to find the answer for herself when he doesn’t answer. She frowns thoughtfully and dismisses whatever is going on in her mind.

Lance wants to shrink into himself. "I..." He can't think of anything to say. He’s done. The tension might as well be back in his body for all the swirl of feelings going through him. He laments that he couldn’t have spent longer with the handsome masseur.

"Will that be card or cash?" she asks as if nothing happened. He almost thanks her for the change in topic, feeling a surge of relief that he can move on from what just happened.

He pays as quickly as he can and heads straight home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.
> 
> If you'd like to read more, feel free to subscribe as I have another 9 chapters already outlined and partly written, OR read ahead in the [super long twitter thread](https://twitter.com/particlebarrier/status/783887865759404032).
> 
> You can find me on Twitter [@particlebarrier](http://twitter.com/particlebarrier).


	2. Whatever Works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance spends the next few days staring at the card Hunk gave him, wondering if he fucked up or not, fingers brushing over the dark, elegant font on the fading brightness of the paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Hunk~ I couldn't resist the opportunity to update this fic today of all days.

Lance spends the next few days staring at the card Hunk gave him, wondering if he fucked up or not, fingers brushing over the dark, elegant font on the fading brightness of the paper. The corners bend beneath his worrying fingers and fold when he slips it into the pocket of each outfit he wears as the days pass. It feels thicker when he keeps it on him, despite how thin the paper feels when he holds it in his hand.

Lance throws himself into his routine, stretching out every muscle in a bid to stop feeling the touch of phantom hands. It doesn’t work. He can still sense the way his skin moved so fluidly at the masseur’s touch, like Hunk’s hands had danced over him and Lance can’t forget the steps. That brief moment flickers in his mind no matter how much he tries to distract himself.

The warm ups only remind him of Hunk. The warmth of a held position reminds him of the touch of the masseur’s soft palms. The familiar tug of stretched muscle reminds him of the strength behind Hunk’s hands. His breathing, so controlled and so focussed, reminds him of how fast his heart had beat and how breathless he had felt afterwards. He can’t escape the parallels his mind creates.

He grips harder onto the barre, lifting his leg higher than usual. The stretches feel good when he moves into them one after another. He pushes himself harder and harder while he tries to focus on his body, but the more he focusses on how he holds himself, the more he thinks of how Hunk had held him within his hands.

Attempts to refine his technique become sloppy, regardless of how hard he tries. His body struggles to obey his whims, fighting him at every extension and wavering where he tries to perfect his form. It becomes a difficult task between the thoughts and memories of Hunk that appear whenever he stretches a muscle. The aching in his body sends flashes of the massage through his mind. Try as he might, he can't focus on the task at hand, and when he finally dances, he lands too heavily.

Once the week’s end hits and he finds his muscles aching again, he clutches Hunk's card tightly in his hand. He thumbs over the number on the card, bending and twisting the paper between his fingers, and grabs for his phone. It nearly slips in his hand at the idea of what he's considering doing. The details on the card seem to intimidate him, teasing him with a fine serif font and a series of numbers that seem to tumble onto the screen at his touch.

His heart races when it starts dialling. The tone sings into his ear sweetly despite how closely it resembles an alarm trying to warn him of the risks ahead. He's not ready. This is a mistake. He should hang up the phone now before it's too late, but his call is answered first. "Hello?"

The sound of the familiar voice makes Lance cover his mouth for a second, letting Hunk's card fall like a leaf to the ground. His fingers press against his lips to hide the gasp at the realisation that he really is doing this, and Hunk really did just answer the phone. He can't bring himself to say anything, and listens to the sound of Hunk breathing before his breath hitches at the sound of Hunk calling down the phone again. "Hello?"

Lance's fingers pull away from his lips and slowly slide up his cheek. "Is this Hunk?" he asks knowing full well that it _is_ him. There would be no one else it could be, and it seems silly to ask, but in his current stupor he doesn't know what else he could have said without rambling some nonsense down the phone. His hand moves its way up his face to his forehead where his fingers start diving into his hair, trying to grasp onto something as if it might tell him why he's calling.

There's a pause on the other end of the phone. It lingers like a deep breath, so painfully slow that Lance considers hanging up and running to the nearest mirror in the rehearsal room. Maybe then he can ask his reflection what he's doing and why the aches in his muscles make him think of a man he's only ever met once. He stares at Hunk's card by his feet as it stares back up at him, bent and crinkled, but still just as pristine.

Hunk's voice comes through loud and clear a mere moment later. "Lance." It sounds more of a statement than a question, like he was waiting for the call. He pauses again, steady breathing coming through the phone and whispering into Lance's ear. All he wants to do is listen to it, but he's meant to be the one talking.

"Hi," Lance swallows hard. He can't remember why he is calling or what he was planning to say. Nervously, he adds, "Body's aching again." Apparently that's the most important piece of information that his brain can think of to say. It's honest, at least. Once the aches of his rehearsals sank into him, he couldn't shake the thought of Hunk kneading them out again.    

Instantly realising what he's said, he blushes and stutters nonsense into the phone. He didn't mean that. What must Hunk think? Lance should hang up. He can simply pretend he never looked at the card at his feet or put a phone in his hand. He's only seen Hunk once, so if he just stops now he won't have to face the embarrassment of seeing his actual face when Lance makes a fool of himself.

Hunk makes a few sounds, like he's considering the choices he's made. Lance swears he can hear regret. In fact, he hears a lot of things that he can't quite understand until Hunk asks, "So naturally you thought of me?" There's a hint of amusement, perhaps teasing. Lance can't tell over the phone. He barely knows this guy.

"I guess that's it, yeah." Lance stares at Hunk's card, moving it with the toe of his ballet slipper. He glances up at the mirrors at the far end of the room. Everyone else has already left for the afternoon. It doesn't feel so empty with the phone pressed to his ear. "Is that offer still... open?" He's not sure what he's asking.

"Offer?" Hunk sounds genuinely surprised, voice rising in tone. A sharp inhale follows a second later and with no hesitation he continues, "If you want you can pop around tomorrow." A long shaky exhale comes through the phone like Hunk's breath is tickling the shell of his ear.

Lance gulps as silently as he can, wondering if Hunk can hear how much his body is shaking at the suggestion. "Great." Lance wants to scream, wants to fall to the ground or leap into the air, do something that will throw all of the pent up excitement and nerves out of his body in a flurry of movement. He stands instead, frozen by the sound of the masseur's voice.

"Were you wanting another massage?" Hunk asks slowly and sends a spiral of thoughts through Lance's mind. What was he supposed to say? He'd been thinking of how much he liked being touched? That hearing Hunk's voice again has him imagining things already?

"Whatever works." Lance can't say he wants more from Hunk than a massage. He can't say that he's done everything but touch himself for a week, trying to focus on his routine instead of the fantasy building in his mind. Nor can he say that when he brushes against something or rubs his shoulder, he shivers and imagines himself bundled up naked in sheets.

Hunk hums in agreement. "Sounds good to me. I've got nothing else booked in so that works for me. How about it?" He seems to be okay with the idea, even positive about it. It's probably normal for him to get requests for work like this. It's just another transaction for him.

Lance bites his knuckles and sweats. He feels hot in his leotard, the fabric clinging to his skin with the sweat from rehearsal and new sweat from nerves and fear. His chest feels tight. His nerves tingle up and down his arms with a restlessness that he suspects even dancing can't work out of his system. Sure that he's the only one that's nervous, he confirms aloud, "Tomorrow. Your place. The works."

"The works?" Hunk sounds amused again, repeating the words back without surprise this time. He waits quietly on the other end of the line. Probably thinking Lance sounds like an absolute dork, probably regretting giving Lance his number in the first place.

"I don't know what you call it?!" Lance yelps, and immediately regrets sounding like the nervous mess that he is. Even performing on the stage doesn't make him as nervous as the sound of Hunk's voice does, and when Hunk hums again Lance needs to put his hand on something to keep his balance. There's nothing within sight, so he resorts to crossing one leg behind the other with a hand on his hip and cursing the fact the guy even _sounds_ attractive. He needs to stop that.

"I'll see you then, Lance." Hunk ends the call before Lance says goodbye, and he's more thankful than upset. Standing in the middle of the rehearsal room, he looks a mess in the mirror. Sweat leaves grey patches across his white leotard and he appears as if he's just run through another choreography with difficult techniques. What the fuck has he just done?

When the next day comes, Lance takes the day off under the guise of 'personal reasons'. It's a weak excuse, but no one at the ballet company feels the need to say anything. He thanks his lucky stars that the new choreographer Takashi "Shiro" Shirogane consents to him taking the time. Somehow his strict approach to Lance's form and technique doesn't apply to his personal life.

At home, he worries over his outfit, changing from one set of clothes to another, struggling with what would work the best for a massage without making him look desperate. He settles on a pair of tight-fitting leggings, comfortable and casual enough to not look like he's trying too hard, but well-fitting enough to make his ass look good. Not that he's _trying_ to make it look good or anything, but it certainly helps him feel more comfortable with going ahead with this massage.

Under his leggings he slips on a simple pink thong. It's not too ostentatious, but nice enough that he feels confident in it. This way he won't have to deal with any embarrassing panty lines if Hunk ends up massaging his ass. If he massages his ass... with those big, warm hands... Lance shakes his head and slips on a simple, loose, white crop top, exposing enough of his skin to the air that the hot feeling rushing through his body might cool down.

Gathering his courage, he glances over Hunk's address on the card and decides in perhaps nervous foolishness to have a taxi drop him off and leave his car at home. He comes up with countless reasons why it's the best option. Even though he knows in the back of his mind that he's trying to ignore the fact he'll have no way home other than a taxi and the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, he'll have an excuse to stay.

Lance arrives at Hunk's house in the early afternoon. He shuts the taxi door behind him when he gets out, carrying nothing with him but enough cash to pay his way. He hands the taxi driver a handful of notes before tucking the rest away in a hidden pocket. Surveying the path before him, he pats over his crop top and his leggings, hoping his casual attire isn't _too_ casual.

He’d spent way too much time trying to work out the perfect outfit. He isn't expecting anything, of course, especially not wearing a thong. It's just a matter of nervousness that's making him feel like his clothes feel wrong or that he's too early or too late. He can feel his heartbeat up in his throat when he walks past the small, manicured garden to the house.

Lance knocks on the front door, noting how nice Hunk's house is. Neat, almost immaculate in detail. The garden on the way there had been full of white hyacinths and jasmine shrubs, creating an array of white flowers to guide him to the door and a sweet fragrance that had greeted him as he’d walked by. Standing by the white wooden door and delicate stained glass windows that frame it, Lance suddenly wants to run the other way.

"You came," Hunk announces when he opens the door. He appears as surprised as he sounds, hands up by his sides with nothing to do, mouth agape, and eyebrows raised. Apparently he'd doubted Lance would turn up at all. He stands in his doorway dressed in a lavender short-sleeved button down and brown cargo pants, with half of his hair pulled back neatly in a short ponytail. His impeccable appearance sets Lance's heart racing.

Taking Hunk's words in, he resists the urge to say that it's too early to say that. "Did you think I wasn't... coming?" Fuck, he needs to stop thinking about coming. He tries to focus on something else, but finds his eyes wandering over the seams and hems of Hunk's clothes. His eyes dart up when he realises he might look like he's undressing him there and then.

"I... " Hunk looks away and lets him in, stepping back to hold the door open for Lance to walk on through. "I’d hoped, but after last time..." Right, the last time where Lance's nudity had fucked it all up. Clearly he's not the only one who remembers how everything had fallen apart.

In awkward silence, Hunk leads him into his house, across the marbled tiles to the large open space of the silver and chrome kitchen and dining room. A dark wooden massage table lies ready in the centre, prepped with a soft cream pillow and matching sheets. Everything in view is spotless.

Hunk turns to face him, hands clasped. "What were you wanting to have done today?" Lance hasn't thought that far. He's just answering the invitation. Hunk fiddles with his shirt, eyeing Lance up when he doesn't get an immediate answer. "My... rate... is different at home. Did you have a budget in mind?"

Wait, “budget”? What? Fuck. Hunk thinks he's there for a massage, which he wouldn't mind, but he’d thought... He'd been thinking... maybe Hunk had asked him there. Maybe Hunk had asked him there for something completely different. Perhaps not driving here was a bad idea.

Lance laughs nervously and tugs at his top, suddenly wishing that his midriff wasn't so exposed. He feels ridiculous now. "I hadn't really thought about... money. Huh." The way Hunk had given him the card plays through his head while he stares at Hunk's shoes, a pair of sandals, understated and probably comfortable. Of course he'd wear something so practical.

Hunk is quiet then. His eyes move over Lance and away from him, tracing over other parts of his home while the silence drags on. Why isn't he saying anything? Lance can't read him, no matter how much he tries. The movement of his hands over each other before him appears thoughtful, contemplative, something that Lance can’t quite make out.

"Don't get me wrong... I really like it when you touch -- massage -- give me a massage," Lance rambles and gestures his hands through the air in circles and swirls and other random shapes. This is going downhill at mach speed. "I just..." 

"Yeah?" Hunk encourages, expression not changing for second, still gleaming with a kindness that brightens the room. Lance doesn't understand how he can be so patient and quiet. His gaze returns to meet Lance's eyes, staring back with an openness that befits the gentle smile beneath it.

Opening and closing his lips, Lance doesn't know what to say at first. Should he say that he thought Hunk might have meant something different? That he had thought that the offer was a free one? "Guess I'm confused by what you said," Lance laughs, trying his best not to pull a face, but his features betray him immediately.

"Which bit?" Hunk moves to turn his back to Lance and fiddle with the massage table. He seems to be unfazed by the whole thing. He smooths over the sheets and pats them down despite how neat they appear to be already. Nothing seems to be out of place.

Lance swallows hard. "‘Not if you're a paying customer.’" Repeating the same words he’d heard sends a shiver through him. Hunk had been so insistent on making it clear that money would not be involved, but here he was talking about budgets and money.

"That bit..." Hunk takes a deep breath. He pauses in place, entire body freezing like he simply turned into a mannequin. One hand, however, moves on its lonesome to check and squeeze the tiny ponytail jutting out at the back of his head. 

Lance is convinced he should run. He can save some of his dignity that way. No one would need to see him being a complete and utter dork and only he would see the embarrassment. Yet it's far too late to save himself now, so he admits the reason his face glows hot. "I didn't think money would be involved." 

Hunk's head turns to peer over his shoulder. "But you want a massage?" His hands start fluffing up the pillows, feeling around for the edges blindly. The muscles in his shoulders seem tense, rising up and falling when he lets a long exhale.

Lance shrugs. All that wishful thinking is fucking him over. "Whatever works," he repeats. "Should I just go? I think I'm just confused." He glances back at the way he came in. There is nothing in his way if he wants to run out the front door. He can't trust himself to not trip, but if he goes now, maybe...

Hunk pats the table, hard. The impact rattles it over the tiles. "Get on the table." His voice is firm and direct, halting all of Lance's thoughts of running off. Hunk's hand rests in the middle of the sheets, forming a series of crinkles and bends in what was a perfectly neat setup moments before.

"What?!" Lance stands unmoving, chills running down his spine. Hunk's rash movement and command has his nerves on edge. Is he really supposed to hop onto the massage table, just like that? They haven't even discussed what exactly is going on and now Hunk just seems to be frustrated with him for taking so long.

Hunk leans forward. "Get on it." He's serious. It shows in his eyes, a steely look taking to them that makes Lance want to drop to his knees. There's no doubt that he means what he's saying when Hunk removes his hand from the sheet and fixes the hem of his shirt.

"O-okay." Lance doesn't argue and moves onto the table, lying face down as soon as he clambers on top. If this is the only way he can get Hunk to touch him, he'll do it. The idea that he's been told sternly to get into position has the anticipation within him rising.

Hunk grabs his shoulders and moves him into position like a rag doll, leaving his head to rest on its side so Lance can stare across the room. "Relax," he instructs and presses his fingers into Lance's back. His fingers are thick and warm just like Lance remembers. Hunk doesn't need to do much more than run his fingers over Lance's back to make him relaxed.

Lance resists moaning at the sudden contact. It's like going back to a familiar place that just melts all his worries away. Despite the inner struggle in Lance's head, Hunk keeps going, harder than before, pushing deep into the muscle. He's silent and persistent, a true professional. He works over the sides, pressing so hard that Lance's ribs ache, but Lance's not about to complain. Especially not when Hunk surprises him by running his fingers down Lance's spine.

Lance wants to move, desperately wants to react, but each time the urge rises, he's pushed back down into the table again with heavy hands. The best he can do is muffle the moans filling his throat by biting his lips and pressing them together to maintain a tenuous grip on silence.

Hunk guides Lance's head from its sideways position to the headrest in the table, following with a run of his fingers down Lance's neck. It takes everything in him not to shudder at such an intimate touch, but he's made it so far that reacting in the way his body desires will only ruin the moment.

Lance stares at the ground, breathing heavily, and listens to Hunk's own huffs and grunts as he works into Lance's back, again and again. Hunk's hands work down and down and down until he touches the bare skin beneath Lance's crop top and halts just above his ass. "I can't..."

"Hmmm?" Lance feels like he's just woken from a dream, too blissed out for words. The heat against his bare skin makes him freeze, too afraid to move and lose the soft touch of his masseur's fingers. The power that Hunk has over him makes him feel weak and yet strangely pleased. It's a nice change from the stress of ballet.

 Hunk removes his hands, leaving behind an emptiness on Lance's back. "Sorry, I have to stop. Sorry." His apologies tumble from his mouth like he has dropped the words themselves and they've scattered along the floor only for him to apologise for that again. Lance can hear a strain in his voice.

"What do you mean stop?" Lance practically whines, but he can barely feel the embarrassment at that compared to what Hunk is saying. He's touched Lance's bare skin for the first time since their last meeting and within seconds it feels like he's changed his mind. Lance can't help but feel rejected, even when he struggles to turn his head to see exactly what's going on.

Hunk does that same apologetic smile, the one that Lance remembers, the one where he said he couldn't do it anymore then either. "I'm going to have to ask you to get off the table." His voice is firm with a hint of a waiver. There's no option of recourse in the way he says those words.

Lance wrestles with the mixture of relaxation and aching fighting each other in his muscles and props himself up on his elbows. "What -- why? You were doing so good." He pushes himself up further, straining his neck to look Hunk in the eye, despite everything in him screaming at him not to. He suspects further disappointment awaits.

Hunk looks down and for the first time Lance sees a flush of colour across his nose. "Please. It's not you, I swear. Well... it _is_ you, but --" He wanders backwards with no clear direction, apparently aiming to put some distance between him and Lance or simply him and the shame written so clearly across his face. 

Lance's brows rise. That's makes no sense to him at all. "It's me, but it's not me..." Repeating back what Hunk is saying doesn't help the message become any clearer. Lance pushes himself up further and he gets off the table with a huff. "That's super specific." Lance can feel himself blushing. He can't be sure if it's his own shame, his disappointment, or the remnants of yet another dance of hands across his skin that he can't forget.

"I can't do this... with you... on the table." Hunk is shaking a little with his own nervous laughter. His hand also shakes, waving near his ears like he’s trying to clear his head. He doesn’t seem to know where to look anymore, but he nods in sync with his admonition. "I need to stay professional."

Lance has to hold back the scoff that wants to break free from his throat. "Says the guy who invited me to his house..." Lance doesn't understand why. As much as he wants to, he can’t seem to wrap his head around anything Hunk wants. Lance just knows that he wants to be touched, and maybe more.

Hunk cringes, pulling a face and tenses his arms. He appears smaller, if only for a second. "I did, yeah." He stands back, loitering a little further away like Lance might jump across the table. He doesn’t appear, scared exactly, but Lance finds his manner suspicious.

Positioning himself beside the massage table, he slides his hands across the rumpled sheets before gesturing upwards at Hunk himself. "So why this?" Lance frowns. Of all things to happen, Hunk backing off again isn’t something he’d been expecting. It’s yet another jab at that soft spot behind his ribs, the one on his left side.

Hunk shrugs self-consciously. "I can't confuse things... when you want a massage." Sheepishly, he smiles and peers up from where his eyes had been staring. For a man who seems so genuinely apologetic, he has a particular knack for making Lance feel like an idiot. More so than usual, that is.

"I didn't come for a massage." Lance blurts, hands waving. They fall immediately back down to the safety of the massage table sheets when his eyes lock with Hunk’s. He wants to look away from the warm glow in those brown eyes of his. But no matter how hard he tries to look elsewhere, he can’t. "You gave me your card after I..." Lance clears his throat and rubs over his chest with one hand while the other steadies himself. "I kind of wanted you to touch me again." 

Hunk stares for what seems like forever. "I want that too," Hunk finally adds. A crackling tension seems to arc across the distance between them. "I didn't want to make it awkward if you were after a proper massage. It's inappropriate otherwise." He runs a hand through his hair and pulls free the tie holding part of his hair back. It falls to frame his face, easily and softly, in exactly the way Lance expects Hunk’s hair to move, just like him.

Lance scoffs, shaking off the distraction before him so he can speak. "You touched me. Really good, I might add, and I got hard." He shrugs and realises the table's hiding the bulge in his leggings. Typical timing. His body never has been good at controlling itself. Not that he ever tries to get it to behave.

Hunk sighs, relieved, and rambles, "You're a dancer so I thought you needed one... and you're handsome and I wanted to see you again so..." Lance takes his turn to be speechless as Hunk continues without taking another breath, "I had to try. Look at you. So when you called I thought it was just business." A nervous laugh forces him to breathe in again, much to Lance’s relief. "You feel, uh, really good, so if you want me to keep..." Hunk is almost breathless with talking this much. "Going... There's the bed?"

Lance tries to put his hands somewhere without looking awkward and ends up with a hand on his hip and one in his hair. "For real?" He probably appears overly dramatic, posing like a model in a fashion shoot. The focus he’s had on ballet for the last week has taken its toll on how he holds his body, making him more dramatic than he needs to be.

"My bedroom's the door just over that way," Hunk nods towards a door past the kitchen. He's wringing his hands repeatedly. He doesn’t even blink at Lance’s peculiar pose. Instead he starts shifting in his dorky sandals and tilting his head towards something behind him. "I'll lead?"

Lance nods and grips his hair tighter. He’s too stunned to move at first. "Yeah, sure, awesome, great. You do the thing. I mean -- lead the way. I'll follow or something." Gulping and feeling a rush of heat tingling up his arms, he lets his hands fall to his sides and quickly shoos Hunk with a wave of his hand to lead the way.

Hunk tries to hide his smile by looking down and finally starts walking off slowly. "’Least this way, if it's not on the table, I won't be stiff." He moves with an ease Lance can’t quite explain. There’s a grace there, a control over his muscles that Lance has come to notice in others. Maybe there’s a lot more to Hunk than meets the eyes.

Lance follows him to the door, replaying everything over in his head. He's not sure what to expect when he walks into that room. "Stiff?!" His voice raises on its own, betraying his surprise and practically cracking like he’s a teenager all over again. He clears his throat to fix his voice and downplay whatever it seems to be doing.

Hunk shrugs and laughs through his nose. "Yeah, I have to hold back if I'm..." He opens the door and walks in to hold it open, holding his tongue until his back hits the wall. "Distracted." His eyes follow Lance as he walks into the room, taking a deep breath, in and out.

"And that makes you stiff?" Lance is grateful for the small talk, smirking to himself at his lacklustre joke and mildly curious question. His mind is almost blank at how soft Hunk's huge, pristine white bed looks. The sheets are just as neat as the massage table, covered with four fluffy pillows, and presented like the most comfortable, inviting place Lance might have ever seen. He peers around the room with a complete sense of awe.

Hunk bites his lips through a smirk, tilting his head when he meets Lance’s gaze. "Among other things." His fingers turn the doorknob in his hand absent-mindedly, like he’s forgotten that he’s holding the door open at all. His eyes linger over the hem of Lance’s crop top and the bare skin beneath it.

Lance's lips part and he licks them before asking, "That so?" He returns the long searching gaze over Hunk’s body. His arms look thicker than he remembers, perhaps an effect of having more of them exposed by short sleeves. His calves are just as built, a sign of exercise or hard work. Lance honestly doesn’t mind which.

Once he catches on, Hunk can't hold his gaze and shuts the door behind them. He then makes his way to the bed, sits on the edge, and beckons Lance with a finger. His finger curling already has Lance’s mind wandering. It’s simultaneously both innocent and suggestive and yet he doesn’t seem fazed by what he’s doing at all.

Lance approaches and in his nervousness starts laughing at how neat everything is. "You need some hobbies, Hunk." Actually saying his name is thrilling. He hadn’t really thought of it back when he’d used it during the phone call, but right here, right now, using his name to address him sends a tremor of excitement through him.

Following Hunk’s wordless direction, Lance props himself up on the bed and kneels there, stroking a hand across the sheets as he slides down to his belly. "Everything's too clean." He can’t say he’s complaining. A house that’s too clean either means Hunk has way too much free time on his hands, he has someone to do it for him, or he doesn’t make much of a mess in the first place. None of them seem too bad as an option.

"You don't take time to make things nice? I thought you might appreciate it. I see I've wasted the effort," Hunk teases and leans closer. There’s a bit of a bite to his voice that Lance hasn’t heard before, and the strange, new tone has him so much more interested in what this could possibly mean for him.

Lance rolls over onto his back, moving out of reach. "I have a very busy schedule, thank you." He scuttles to a comfortable position and examines the ceiling above him. It’s a dull and boring grey with nothing of particular interest save a small series of LED lights adorning it in a specific angular pattern.

"Mmmm, dancing," Hunk muses aloud. His hands push down against the mattress hard enough for Lance to feel. He’s pushing his large hands into the mattress as if they are dancing across the sheets themselves. It’s hard to ignore.

Lance props himself up with his elbows to squint Hunk's way. "How do you know I'm a dancer? As I recall, I haven't told you what I do." The thought hits him with a sharp clarity. He has mentioned moving as far as he remembers. He can’t remember ever saying he dances for a living. Maybe it’s simply a guess, but he has to know.

Hunk opens his mouth to speak and finds nothing. His face transforms through a series of expressions before he turns his head away. "I know..." The tone in his voice gives nothing away. There’s no hint of embarrassment or surprise, just a simple acknowledgement of the truth.

However, Hunk actually looks bashful. Lance is onto something. He grins and wriggles closer until their arms touch. "Okay, no, you have to tell me." Lance suspects it's something about his body. He did just turn up to the guy's house in leggings, a crop top, and a probably obvious thong. It wouldn’t be a baseless guess from those kinds of clothes.

"You feel like a dancer?" Hunk starts saying, but it sounds more like guessing, like he isn’t entirely certain about what he’s saying. "I've done some physiotherapy before and you have the body." His declaration feels rushed out of his mouth and more like a rehearsed excuse than something convincing.

Lance is still suspicious. He leans closer, rubbing said body against Hunk, who gets more embarrassed by the minute. "What kind of dancer?" He uses his voice to tease, wanting to know exactly what this masseur, _his_ masseur, thinks of him and what he does. How much can he know by feeling Lance up? 

"I-I don't -- I don't know that." Hunk nudges back against him. It’s a shy push, far too gentle to really move him anywhere. "Do you want me to touch you or do you want guesses?" Lance exhales loudly in protest. It’s a rather unfair ultimatum.

Hunk visibly relaxes when Lance shifts his way across the bed, removing the touching of their skin and the nudging and the rubbing. Lance sighs louder with pout. Admittedly he’s disappointed by Hunk’s answer and having to move further away. "Fine. You have me." He rolls to his stomach, presenting himself just like before, like he’s an offering.

"Seems that way." Hunk moves his way across the bed, slowly and gracefully, drawing it out as if he wants to make Lance squirm impatiently. His weight moves the mattress with each knee and hand he presses into the bed. The anticipation of Hunk reaching him is already driving Lance mad.

Lance drags one of Hunk's pillows to rest under his head and wiggles his ass. "Hurry up! You've made me wait because you wanted to _bed_ me." He thanks his luck that he manages to keep his tone playful when he says that, and he’s even more grateful that he can hide his face while he does it.

Hunk's hands press down against his back, working right into muscle. Lance lets out an embarrassing whine and turns to bite the pillow. With a satisfied hum, Hunk moves over Lance's skin like he's kneading bread, pushing, pulling, working his knuckles down Lance's spine. His touch is worth all the waiting in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. Things are definitely going to ramp up next chapter >w> I wonder how the massage will go this time~
> 
> If you'd like to read more, feel free to subscribe as I have another 8 chapters already outlined and partly written, OR read ahead in the [super long twitter thread](https://twitter.com/particlebarrier/status/783887865759404032).
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr (@foxberryblue)](https://foxberryblue.tumblr.com/) and Twitter ([@foxberryblue](http://twitter.com/foxberryblue) or [@particlebarrier](http://twitter.com/particlebarrier)) or on my writing only blog [Foxberry Writes](http://foxberrywrites.tumblr.com/).


	3. Come On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again Lance finds himself melting, but this time there's a mattress beneath him, and he swears that he can feel Hunk moving behind him. He can't believe he's truly in this position after everything that's happened. It hardly makes sense to him, but here he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned Nami to draw [this beautiful piece of art](https://twitter.com/NSamhade/status/828415606122622977) for an upcoming scene. If you haven't seen it, please go now.
> 
> I also commissioned Marcus to draw this [beautiful piece](https://twitter.com/TojoLens/status/860985355553521664) of a scene in this chapter. Be sure to check it out once you've read through.
> 
> If you are here because of that piece, hello, hi, thank you? I hope you have enjoyed the story so far. That scene shall be coming in a chapter soon so hang tight ;)

Once again Lance finds himself melting, but this time there's a mattress beneath him, and he swears that he can feel Hunk moving behind him. He can't believe he's truly in this position after everything that's happened. It hardly makes sense to him, but here he is. 

Lance snaps back to reality when Hunk perches himself over his legs, straddling his thighs just behind his ass. Hunk's own thighs practically squish Lance beneath him, wrapping over and around him. It's a sense of comfort that Lance didn't know he could feel, or even want. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t loving every second.

"Seriously though," Lance begins, trying to look up at Hunk from his position. As much as he tries, he can barely look over his shoulder. "How did you kno--ooohhh?" His words dissolve immediately at Hunk's touch as his fingers move up Lance's spine. Hunk hums as if he didn't hear what Lance had tried to ask and works small circles into his skin with his thumbs.

At Lance's shoulders, Hunk kneads into him, grabbing at the skin like he might carry Lance away. "How's this?" he asks as he digs in more. His grasp fits perfectly over Lance like he has been built to hold him just so, and his fingers know all the right places to press to make Lance sigh.

"G-good. So good. Don't stop." Lance almost drools into the pillow as all tension in his body is worked out by Hunk's skillful hands. He can feel that his body is there, still present and still tingling beneath the man hovering over him, but he may as well be one with the bed with how far he feels he has melted into it.

Soon Hunk starts to work his way down Lance's sides, pressing into his ribs, drawing out a small embarrassing noise. He laughs a low chuckle that instantly makes Lance's breath hitch at how deep and joyful and comforting it sounds in his ear. It's all Lance can make out above his own heavy breathing.

Hunk leans into his back then, pushing Lance further down as Hunk apparently takes his own moment to breathe and quickly withdraws. "Sorry." His hands trail briefly over Lance's skin, almost tickling, afraid to completely lose touch before his fingers disappear completely.

Lance whines and wriggles only to find himself pinned in place. He's pinned... on a mattress... and practically drooling.  _ Fuck _ , he likes this. "What are you sorry for?" Lance complains and slaps his hands against the mattress. "Do your worst. Work me over.  _ Fuck _ me over even. Fuck." Hunk stutters in response. He sounds flustered. Lance decides he likes the sound of that. He reaches around to slap his own ass. The sound of that is just as satisfying. "Come on."

Hunk moves more quickly than he expects, pushing him down, leaning his weight on Lance's back, before moving his hands down to Lance's ass. Hunk tests the movements, pressing in his thumb as if checking whether he has permission. Lance arches his back to push himself into Hunk's hands, letting him know as directly as possible that he has permission to do whatever he pleases. After all, Lance is sure it'll be pleasing to him regardless.

Lance lets out a shaky exhale when Hunk starts kneading there as he has everywhere else. He moves slowly from the hips with a tight grip over and across each butt cheek. Lance can't remember the last time he was this hard, though he has never been grabbed and moved and pushed down like this before. Moaning, Lance moves as much as he can so he can rub himself against the mattress. He wants so desperately to touch himself, but he can't. Moving at all is a struggle.

Lance needs more, wants more, and he'll be damned if he's not going to ask for it. He swings his arm behind him and grabs Hunk's shirt. "Lean on me." The fabric feels soft between his fingers, giving just enough that Lance can get a sense of satisfaction and pull it tight with his demand.

"But you want me to touch you..." Hunk starts, only to give in, staring down at the hand on his shirt that disappears once he complies. He leans forward, letting his weight settle on Lance's ass, on his back, until he's holding himself up with his hands framing Lance's sides. Lance freezes when Hunk lies down against him completely, his body entirely resting on him. There's the warmth, the weight and pressure, and the realisation that Hunk is undeniably well-endowed.

"You too, huh?" Lance teases and wiggles his ass. His muscles tense, still aching, but not for something completely different. He can feel the way the mattress gives just a little below their combined weight and he wonders if he's ever felt this comfortable and breathless at the same time.

Hunk huffs and jolts a little, sending a jiggle through him. His body moves over Lance, locking their bodies together like they were meant to fit that way. "What else were you expecting? You're basically obscene,” his voice sings with a hint of mockery and a touch of honey. Hunk could make a fool of Lance with that voice and he'd probably thank him for it.

"You're basically packing," Lance chuckles, finding himself breathless at the idea. He's certainly wondered about what Hunk might be like below the belt, beneath his clothes, under the sheets, but the fact he  _ can _ feel the reality makes it so much more than his fantasies. Lance’s tone rises up in jest to ask, "Do you have a license for that?"

Hunk bucks into him. The reaction is instinctual, blunt, hitting Lance hard enough to drive him silent. Hunk pauses and claws into the sheets, scrunching them up only to soften his grip a second later. "Are you-- are you wearing a  _ thong _ ?!" Hunk's voice rises up several tones. He seems to be growing more nervous and twitchy as time passes. Lance has to admit that he loves it.

He grins broadly, trying to turn his head so Hunk can see the look on his face. "Asks the guy who's got his  _ huge _ dick pressed against my ass and doesn't move." While he struggles to peer over his shoulder, he gets close enough to get a glimpse of the glint in Hunk's eye. His eyebrows rise and move as suggestively as he can manage while physically restrained.

He doesn't get a chance to blink before Hunk grinds against his ass and his head falls back down to the pillow. Lance shudders beneath him with a sense of satisfaction and prompts a low laugh from Hunk's throat.  His amusement comes through in his tone when he retorts, "Says the guy that's  _ desperate _ for it." A huskiness has taken to his voice, mingling with the honey and the mockery, so warm and inviting, and drawing him in further.

"Or, you know, just desperate." Hunk laughs again and Lance can feel the sound reverberate through his chest. Twitches and flexes of Hunk's muscles move through him too, moving against him, pulsing through his own body. They’re somehow all connected in that moment of intimacy, closeness. "Yeah, that's gotta be it. Uh-huh."

Shaking himself free from his momentary daze, Lance reverts to humour and challenges Hunk's teasing. "Don't start what you can't finish." He wants to provoke Hunk again, get him to react again, see how far he has to push before he gets what he wants. Lance tries to rub himself against Hunk's dick and his own dick against the bed, but fails to move far.

Hunk hums at Lance's whining and wriggling. A touch of triumph, curiosity, and amusement rings in his voice, resonating through his chest. It hits Lance somewhere deep and down low like a caress down his side, but he barely gets a moment to pause on how he feels before Hunk moves. He shifts his weight to one side, freeing a hand so it can snake down to Lance's hip. "Oh?"

"You heard me, big man. Finish." Lance's heart races and his breathing quickens. He can’t believe he’s just challenged the man that’s capable of holding him down and making him vulnerable, weak, removing all will to move from his body with only a touch. Yet he wants to move, wants to be moved, wants to move Hunk to do all the things he’s imagined for a week. His head feels like it’s spinning when Hunk slips his hand under Lance's hip, pulling him up roughly.

Lance opens his mouth, part surprise, part want, and maybe part trying to breathe normally again, but he waits for Hunk to speak this time. Hunk does, quietly, leaning close enough for Lance to feel the heat of his breath. "Better get  _ hands-on _ . We both know how much you like that."

Lance gasps as Hunk's hand works its way under him, over his hip and down to his crotch, all while still pressing him into the bed. His fingertips brush across his body, teasing over his tights, moving the fabric in small ripples. They move back up to Lance’s midriff and he feels above the skin-tight fabric clinging to his body, fingers warm against the skin. "These are in the way. Shame." He rocks his hips into Lance to make his point.

Lance doesn't need to be told twice. His fingers dive for the waistband of his tights and start pulling them down, but they barely move. The fabric stretches as he pulls and tugs to no avail. He can’t move under Hunk like this, no matter how hard he tries. Lance makes a frustrated noise with each attempt.

Hunk presses a hand to Lance's back to push himself up and chuckles at the new sound Lance makes. The move silences Lance immediately. "You should be able to move now." Hunk adds as he sits up, removing the pressure. Lance instantly gasps and quickly pulls down his leggings.

Lance slips himself free with a sigh, dick brushing against the sheets, ass exposed for Hunk's gaze. They both pause for a silent moment: the realisation of how they’re positioned, how exposed Lance is, how quickly this escalated from a call about a massage. Lance can’t remember the last time his heart beat normally.

"Should I... uh...?" asks Hunk, suddenly breathless at the sight of Lance's ass framed by his tights while he asks in two words if he should remove his own pants. Or at least that’s what Lance assumes. The man seems to have lost his words while Lance thinks to himself that his ass has to look good with the tights clinging to his ass to make it look round, firm, ready. His mind even passes to the thought of how cool Hunk’s sheets feel against his erection. He didn’t realise he had gotten so warm.

Lance hums thoughtfully, flexing the muscles in his thighs, hoping he can make himself look more enticing. "That's up to you." He can’t remember the last time he flirted with real intent behind it, where what he said had some actual weight or consequence. Right now all the weight seems to be pressed into him and he’s anticipating the consequences to come. 

Hunk exhales loudly and the first thing Lance feels is warm skin against his ass. Perhaps he hadn’t considered exactly how it would feel, or he simply hadn’t taken into account exactly what Hunk removing his pants would mean, as ridiculous as that is. At any rate, here he is, pinned, and his breath hitches when he’s caught off guard and feels all of Hunk's hard length.

"Hot  _ damn _ . How's that real?" Lance rambles and pushes himself up and back, grinning with satisfaction when Hunk shakes a bit because of him. He could have simply fallen flat to the bed in his surprise, but that would not have any of his charm or flair or cheek. Besides, he needs to be sure he’s not hallucinating.

Lance continues, with another wiggle of his ass, "Taking your sweet- _ass_ time. I could've jerked myself off if I knew you were going to take this long. Come oh- _oohhhh_ shit." Hunk's hand curls around Lance's dick, firm and warm and somehow so ridiculously soft that Lance could have sat still to enjoy that feeling. Hands that soft with that much strength behind them would probably have him coming in no time.

With a push of his hips, Hunk pins Lance to the bed, trapping Lance between his dick and his hand. "Guess you'll just have to  _ fuck _ my hand." His grip is firm, but still just loose enough that Lance craves more. Yet there’s a hesitation to do more than bask in Hunk’s scent, his warmth, the way he effortlessly seems to envelop him.

Before Lance can even register what just happened, Hunk starts thrusting against him, heavy breaths caressing over Lance's shoulders. "Nnh." His movements are slow, measured, moving with each inhale, and pausing at the exhales. Lance wants to desperately ask for the hesitation in his thrusts to disappear, but he can’t deny he likes the fact he’s not the only one in the room that’s nervous.

Pinned down again, Lance feels the weight on his body and closes his eyes to let himself feel it all: Hunk's breath, his hand, his cock. Ready to start moving, he finds he can't, not by much. He bucks a little into Hunk's hand and finds himself more frustrated. "Hunk, _please_." Pressing his lips together, he swallows the further pleas that bubble up from his chest, readying themselves to float off his tongue.

Hunk lifts himself marginally from Lance’s body in answer and bucks harder against his ass. Apparently all it takes to get him to move is a simple request. Perhaps Lance should make more of them. He has many that he can think of, but just as the release of pressure lets Lance move again, Hunk starts pumping his dick.

Lance gasps and moans beneath Hunk, moving in jagged rolls of his own hips, pushing himself up against Hunk's body. "Ffuuu-hhhnnnn.  _ Shit _ ." Words escape him as he feels exactly how soft Hunk’s hands are where he’s the most sensitive. It’s more than his fantasies had imagined, more than he’d allowed himself to imagine. It fits too beautifully with a man that seems to tend to everything in his life with care.

Hunk leans over him, moving faster and work ing himself against Lance's ass. The movement of his hand on Lance becomes jerky and clumsy. It’s hot, needy, wanting to take and give. Lance wants to give as much to this exchange as he can. It doesn’t even matter how, he just knows that’s what he wants.

Lance sighs and starts to fuck Hunk's hand, moving his body in sharp thrusts, pressing his ass up again and again. Hunk hums behind him in approval. It rumbles through Lance’s back, through his skin, hitting somewhere deep to make him feel so much harder than before. Together they buck, grunt, and move against each other with the smell of sweat and the promise of release until Hunk moans deep enough to surprise them both.

Lance shakes, shivers, and tenses as Hunk's hand brings him to the edge. The heat curls up in his gut as his warm breath huffs against the pillow, his face pressing into the fluff infused with Hunk’s scent. His head feels like he’s spinning again, joy mingling with the inescapable feeling of want brimming beneath the surface. Each stroke brings him closer, closer,  _ closer _ until Hunk grabs his hip hard and he comes finally with a choked moan.

Hunk moves back onto his knees and pulls Lance into him by his waist, large hands setting a firm pressure in his desperation. His voice warps into low appreciative sighs, grunting nonsense that sounds no different from any other sound Hunk has made since he stopped talking. He gives the last few rough thrusts before he comes hot and thick on Lance's back.

Lance drops down to the bed when Hunk's hands slide away. Closing his eyes, he presses his face into cold sheets and catches his breath. He can’t tell if he had been holding his breath or if he simply forgot to breathe for a second. The light-headedness swimming through his head becomes muddy with the afterglow swarming over him. Bliss feels so much better on fresh linen, he decides.

Hunk drops down beside him with what Lance has to call a satisfied sigh. The sheets tug as his sudden weight makes the mattress bow beneath him. He nudges Lance with the tips of his fingers until Lance rolls over to stare Hunk in the face. His cautious but relaxed smile says it all: he has no regrets.

"How was -- uh, you okay? Everything okay?" Hunk draws his eyebrows together in concern. He examines Lance with his gaze, breath hitching at the tights still pulled down below the crotch. Gulping, he peers up again, letting out a nervous breath of a laugh. It feels as if they’ve just laid down beside each other for the first time, as if the past however long hadn’t just happened.

Lance closes his eyes and edges closer. "Mmmhmmmmm." He can’t believe how comfortable he feels. A stranger’s home, a stranger’s bed, and a stranger lying next to him shouldn’t make him feel this good, and yet here he is, feeling some kind of way. Whatever way it  _ is _ seems to be enough to make him smile, make him giddy, and get him off.

Hunk sighs again and smiles when Lance opens his eyes again. His hair has fallen from his ponytail and lies across his forehead in loose strands. It appears he got far more into their rendezvous than Lance had thought. "I got a bit worried there,” he says quietly, his eyes still searching for something somewhere, as if to justify the concern written on his face.

"Why?" Lance grins like a Cheshire cat and blinks slowly, happily, content to lie beside Hunk for as long as he can. Lance feels too sleepy, too out of it to move. Every ounce of energy he has diverts to the expression on his face. Though even that seems to be having trouble doing much more than smiling. 

Hunk clears his throat. His focus lies squarely on the open neck of Lance’s top across his chest. "I'm not exactly small. I've got to make sure I didn't squish you." His gaze traces over Lance's hips before he sheepishly looks up to meet Lance's stare. The brown of his eyes seems softer somehow. Lance is probably just imagining it.

"If that was squishing, you can  _ squish _ me anytime," Lance says with a tired, slightly delirious sing-song tone. His breath has begun to even out despite the heavy feel of his limbs. His body is finally feeling the aftermath, and it’s not half bad at all. Lance could get used to this, if he ever gets the same opportunity again, but he’s not going to let his hopes get too high.

Hunk simply gapes then looks away, unable to come up with words to say, unable to look Lance in the eye. For all the forwardness he had shown before, he seems to be far more shy beneath it all. A hint of nervousness lays over him despite how still he remains.

In amongst it all, Lance feels the sweet taste of bliss on his tongue. He wonders as he bites his bottom lip what Hunk's lips feel like, what he tastes like, but even after their stint he's too nervous. All of that courage seems to have faded with his erection. Instead he's soft, tender, and wanting to sleep as close to Hunk as he's allowed. He's only had a small glimpse of what is and what can be, and he already wants another taste of it.

Lance soon finds Hunk watching him despite how many times he closes his eyes and nearly falls asleep. As if in response to his sigh, Hunk reaches out and lets his hand hover near Lance's face. It quickly falls to Lance's shoulder and then shakes him gently. "You're going to fall asleep."

"Soooo?" Lance tilts his chin up with as little effort as he can manage. Sleeping here is more than he can ask for. He wants to wake up and find himself feeling like this again, if not better. He's in no rush to go anywhere, and he doesn’t exactly have a way to get home, either.

Hunk considers him, running his other hand through his own hair, strands slipping through his fingers until his hand falls softly to the mattress. "I'll take you home... after we clean you up," Hunk thinks aloud. The hand on Lance’s shoulder squeezes with a soft touch like he didn't realise he was doing it.

Lance pushes himself up with a shaky arm. "Can't I just stay here?" The idea of leaving only makes him sure he wants to stay. Determined, he rolls onto his back and spreads himself out. He can take over the bed, firmly root himself here, demand to stay and see what happens. Lance settles on waggling his eyebrows at Hunk. "Can't you just clean me up?"

"And here I was thinking you knew how to wash yourself," Hunk retorts, pursing his lips with a sense of amused judgement. Even when he mocks Lance he finds a way to smile. His eyebrow rises as he watches Lance squirm on the bed and doesn't make an effort to move, too calm in his now crumpled shirt to try. It's all quite horribly unfair on Lance, who squints and pulls his limbs in so he can roll toward Hunk.

"Nah." Lance leans closer to Hunk's face, close and yet not close enough. He can't keep the smile from sneaking onto his lips as he says the words "I'm filthy." It comes out of his mouth easier than he expects, almost too easily, and sounds more like flirting than he intended. But he edges even closer and realises instantly he doesn't regret it.

"I'd believe that." Hunk pushes Lance away with his broad palms, leaving a trace of warmth on Lance's shoulders. He gestures with a flick of his wrist for Lance to get off the bed before he gets up from the mattress with a sigh. He appears still put together, like he had only laid down for a nap that had happened to crinkle his shirt, mess up his hair, and leave his pants unbuttoned. Lance takes just a hint of satisfaction from having made him like that.

Letting out a long exhale, Lance rolls off the bed and gets to his feet, a wobbliness kicking in before he can take a single step. He didn't think he'd really pushed himself that hard, but here he is in a stranger's room with his own cum smeared over his stomach and Hunk's running down his back.

He barely manages to get his tights up before Hunk's launched himself off the bed and starts to drag him away. It's little more than a blur and a hand clutched around a bicep (Lance can’t even quite tell which one) but he's together enough to stumble along with a little guidance. He's more focussed on Hunk pushing a fresh towel in his hand and the cold touch of bathroom tiles beneath his feet. He blinks again to find Hunk's leaving him in the bathroom, the door clicking closed with a heavy sense of implication.

Lance strips and inspects his clothes for the damage, turning them over in his hands. His crop top appears unscathed and slips through his fingers to the floor. His tights, however, appear to be a lost cause upon inspection. Come covers the hems, seeped into the stretch of the fabric, already starting to dry. He chuckles at the mess they've made of his tights, cum clinging to the curve of his ass.

The walk-in shower to his left glimmers in the warm light from the ceiling, drops of water trickling down the glass divider. The sink and cabinets are lined with a series of creams and oils as if this were an extension of the room where this all started. Lance feels a shiver run down his spine to the cold blue tiles beneath his bare feet.

"You're just leaving me here?" he asks to the echo of the bathroom, turning around to face the closed door. He hangs up the towel on a ridiculously shiny hanger and waits for some kind of response. Hunk can't have gone far. Lance swears he can feel him nearby, perhaps even waiting outside.

A thud hits the door and confirms his suspicions. He doesn't know when he began to be so cocky about something so... new, but knowing he was right makes him feel good in a way he can't quite grasp yet. Finally moving to the shower, Lance grins wide. Hunk's standing on the other side. He has to be. Looks like he didn't get very far after shoving Lance in.

Lance reaches in to turn the water on. The shower head squeaks and shakes before the water streams from the head and slaps across the tiles. He lets it run while he sneaks to the door, moving quietly to prevent the sticky sound of his toes lifting from the tiles. His hand turns the doorknob as slowly and silently as he can before he pulls it open to find Hunk staring back.

"Good." Lance grabs Hunk's shirt while the man's eyes wander down his naked form, surprised and amused. He couldn't be more pleased to find him there, or at the way his gaze combed over him, apparently undeterred. "As you know, I'm not good at this," Lance teases with a greater smile and a wiggle of his shoulders.

He steps back, pulling Hunk with him by a fistful of fabric, leaving the door open. "I'm going to need some help." There's no resistance, each one of Hunk's steps following Lance's as they move in sync. Lance barely has to try, and the ease with which he has Hunk tagging along has him practically singing the tease in his voice. "The water's on. I'm  _ naked _ . Now what,  _ hmmm _ ?"

"I can't shower in my clothes," Hunk suggests, very much distracted by Lance's body. He hardly seems to be aware of the way Lance's hands move to the buttons, undoing each one until his shirt falls open. The heat of Hunk's skin meets the tips of Lance's fingers, confirming his chest is just as soft as the rest of him.

Lance's hand explores up over Hunk's chest, pressing in to feel the thick muscle. It gives beneath his touch, soft and smooth, skin so well groomed that Lance shudders at how Hunk feels. The curve of his chest gives way to the lines of his collarbones, and at the muscle of his neck Lance grabs at Hunk's shirt collar. He tugs the shirt down over his shoulders, pulling it off in seconds.

Lance chucks Hunk's shirt, barely free of his wrists, aside with a laugh and retreats into the shower. The shirt hits the wall and slides down to the floor by the time he's under the shower head. He lets water run down his skin, turning so it covers his back, and stares directly at Hunk with a raised eyebrow. "You do the rest. I'll watch."

Hunk scratches his ear, staring down at his bare chest. His stomach juts out above his shorts, a gentle curve under his pecs, round between the muscular frame of his arms. His mouth draws into a line while his brows pull together, his eyes flicker between his exposed skin and Lance's face. Biting his lip, he removes the rest, eyes squarely on Lance. "Make room for me."

Lance steps back and takes his turn to let his eyes wander. Hunk's thighs appear that much thicker once his shorts are at his ankles. Seeing them, rather than feeling them, deepens Lance’s breathing, and he lets the water run through his hair, cooling himself down as it trickles down his neck. Lance makes no attempt to look away from Hunk's length, either, and thinks to himself how grateful he is that the water is running cold.

In seconds, Hunk is standing with him under the shower, pressed up against him. There's just enough room under the water for the two of them, even if the water is running down over Lance's face and simply pattering against Hunk's chest. In that moment, blinking through the water, Lance stands there, mind blank. He forgets why he's there in the first place until Hunk starts working over him with soap, both gentle and thorough. Again Lance finds himself weak at the knees at the touch of Hunk's hands. His own clasp behind Hunk's neck, pulling him closer. "I... we..."

Lance forgets everything when Hunk's hands grab his waist and tug him closer. He closes the distance and brings his lips against Lance's. Despite the chill of the water, Hunk's lips are hot, searing, slicing through every shred of resistance Lance might have thought he had. Water runs down over Lance's eyelids and he realises he's feeling another kind of melting when Hunk's hands cup his face and he deepens the kiss further. Lance forgets why he's in the shower, why there's water pelting down over the both of them, while he works his lips against Hunk's. It's not until Hunk turns off the water that he stops and pulls away to blink off the droplets on his eyelashes.

After a quick inspection, Hunk nods and leads Lance out of the shower, hands guiding the way out like Lance might fall at any moment. Hunk wraps a towel around him first, rubbing him down everywhere, working away the water still dripping to the ground. Lance can't help but react to how rough he is. Exactly how much he enjoys it becomes clear to them both when Hunk finds Lance's dick in his face, showing off proudly that it's hard once again. Hunk quickly dries Lance's thighs and wraps the towel around his hips to cover it. Lance sighs his disappointment as he watches Hunk get to his feet and dry himself off.

"You had a perfectly good opportunity there," Lance complains. He places his hands on his hips, the damp touch of the towel feeling rough beneath his hands. He muses briefly as he traces his eyes across Hunk's body that touching soft skin would be a better sensation. He makes no effort to cross the room and test that thought, though.

Hunk laughs and states with a matter-of-fact tone, "You're tired and I'm taking you home. No more complaints." His shoulders seem so broad when he stands so still, like a wall ready for Lance to press up against. Yet not a bit of him seems imposing, his eyes still too warm to truly deny his good intentions, or his insistence.

Lance sulks, removing his towel in protest and deliberately making a show of how he's half-hard already. He swings his hips and begins to dry his hair with an exaggerated frustration, towel rubbing against his head vigorously. He could've gotten off again. If Hunk were less selfless and concerned for him. Lance can't say that he particularly minds being taken care of.

Hunk takes a moment, chest heaving, and inspects the state of Lance's leggings by his feet, evidently stained by the both of them. "I'll lend you some clothes." The guy is way too nice, Lance concludes. He takes less than a second to start walking away, checking over his shoulder just to be sure, but passes when Lance frowns.

"Your clothes are going to be huge on me." Lance discards the towel, letting it fall to the tiles. He can't help the way his eyes trail down the girth of Hunk's waist, his stomach, his thighs. There's no way that any clothes Hunk has will fit him, so he suggests another option, as ridiculous as it may seem, through a laugh. "Just take me home like this." He unfolds his arms and presents himself.

Lance feels nervous standing there. He always gets more chatty and flirty when he's nervous. Apparently this also applies to standing in his masseur's bathroom exposing himself intentionally. The very bold assertion that he goes home naked hasn't even quite hit him yet when Hunk steps forward to grab Lance by the chin. The intensity in his eyes makes Lance even more nervous, realisation hitting him bluntly in the chest. He falls silent and wonders where all of that sudden bout of confidence came from.

Lance could beg and whine and let Hunk push him against a wall to have his way with him. Yet Hunk is simply worried about getting him home. There's not even a hint of hesitation in that gaze of his, no distraction from the task of getting Lance home safe. He can't think of a single thing to say with that grip on his chin, and at Lance's silence, Hunk grins cheekily and disappears to find clothes.

"This should do." Hunk says when he returns shortly with a large yellow shirt. It drapes over his outreached hand, inviting as the man that holds it. It looks huge, just as Lance had suspected, but Lance takes it anyway and bites his lip as he pulls the thing over his head.

It drowns Lance, reaching down to his thighs, and he realises quickly the shirt is just long enough to cover his ass. He's entirely certain this is an intentional move on Hunk's part, but says nothing, even if it is the only piece of clothing he brought along with him. It's enough, and Lance isn't one to complain, but he has to chuckle under his breath at the fact he has nothing else to match his ensemble.

Gathering his things, Lance feels the distinct pang of sadness that he has to leave. Even the wait for Hunk to get dressed while he stands outside in the living room, staring at the massage table where their afternoon had begun, feels strange. It's only then that he realises that he has no viable way of getting home, especially not in a shirt that keeps slipping down his shoulders.

"Well, I'm good," Hunk announces his presence, walking so casually across the room that Lance has to wonder whether he's the only one wanting this to last just a little longer. "Something wrong?" His brow furrows with concern, his smile becoming somewhat strained. He's not missed a beat of how Lance is feeling.

Shaking his head, Lance tries to shake the thoughts away, the daydreams of staying here longer, letting the hours blend together like a palette of colours. He distracts from his fantasies with the reality laying before him. "I don't have my car here... I... uh..." Heat surges up his neck, the sudden embarrassment of admitting that only seeming to make him feel hot under the collar in all sense of the word.

Hunk brushes a hand through his hair, letting his fingers run until they catch in his thick locks. "You don't say." There's not a hint of surprise on his face. He clears his throat and drops his hand to his side, shoulders shrugging up and somehow making him look smaller and cuter than Lance thought possible. "I saw you get out of the taxi... So I'll just drive you home. If that's... okay with you?"

Lance doesn't know if he's more shaken by the size of the shirt he's wearing or the way Hunk manages to move despite his size or the fact he's going to be driven home like it's a date. Perhaps this has been more than a hookup, more than a booty call, more than a massage thinly veiling other intentions. Whatever it is, he nods anyway, and quickly grabs his shoes then follows Hunk outside.

On the way to Hunk's car, his clothes bundled in his arms, Lance realises the shirt smells like Hunk and has to tug it down further. He can barely speak when he gets in the car or feels the stick of the seat of Hunk's silver Jeep on the underside of his thighs. The ride home is quiet with not a single word managing to find its way to his mouth, nor to Hunk's.

In that long drawn out drive, Lance realises what he's done and is at a loss for what to do next. Even as Hunk is telling him that they've arrived, it still hasn't registered with his brain, and next he knows Hunk is leaning closer. Blinking out of his daze, he quickly leans in for a chaste kiss and leaves Hunk's car blushing.

Walking away, he can't bear to turn back and see Hunk watching him. He stares stubbornly ahead, across the driveway, to the steps of his apartment building, to the door of his neighbour's apartment. When the door of his own apartment comes into his sights, still in view of the street, he turns back to find Hunk watching from the driveway, hand raised and waving.

Lance makes a small sound at the thought that Hunk's been waiting the whole time for him to turn around. Shakily, he raises his own hand to wave back and then, as if satisfied that Lance is home safe, Hunk drives off with a short beep of his horn. In the surge of emotion that overtakes him, Lance doesn't care that he's standing on the landing outside of his neighbour's apartment in only a t-shirt. Nothing else can ruin this moment.

"Usually walks of shame aren't in the middle of the afternoon. Trying to set a new trend, McClain?" a voice calls from behind him, blunt and to the point. If he didn't know any better, Lance might have been spiteful and bitten back, but his neighbour has a tendency to say questionable things with the best intentions.

Lance turns, hands pulling down his shirt to cover himself. The last thing he needs is Keith seeing his dick right now and ruining the bliss he feels. Not that he’d mind, exactly, but as hot as his neighbour might be, he hadn't planned on flashing him. "What's it matter to you, Kogane?" He shuffles awkwardly to the side, trying to hide whatever dignity he has left while wearing nothing but another man's shirt as he flashes anyone possibly behind him with his ass.

Keith huffs a laugh and raises his eyebrows, the hint of a smile forming on his lips. He shakes his head and disappears back into his apartment. The door closes with a click and Lance takes it as a sign he needs to hole himself up in his own place. He rushes to his door with an awkward shuffle and practically falls inside before scuttling to his bedroom.

Tired, Lance flops to his bed. He buries his head into his pillows, face hot and burning. He rolls to his side, to his back, and back to his stomach. As much as he closes his eyes he can't manage to find a comfortable position without thinking of the early afternoon or without smelling Hunk's scent on him. Lance tries to rest up for his big rehearsal tomorrow despite his restlessness, but instead he jerks himself off while smelling Hunk's shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh how things have progressed~ Thank you for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> If you'd like to read more, feel free to subscribe as I have another 8 chapters already outlined and partly written, OR read ahead in the [super long twitter thread](https://twitter.com/particlebarrier/status/783887865759404032).
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr (@foxberryblue)](https://foxberryblue.tumblr.com/) and Twitter ([@foxberryblue](http://twitter.com/foxberryblue) or [@particlebarrier](http://twitter.com/particlebarrier)).


	4. Up Early

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even out of bed yet, Lance calls Hunk with a shaky touch of his finger. Bringing it to his ear feels like an eternity. It rings once, twice, three times before he hangs up. He can't. He can't call this early. Hunk won't be awake. Lance hasn't even talked today. He's not even really awake yet. The screen still looks blurry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has taken way too long because of my vacation but I'm back and I'm sure the wait will be worth it ;)

Lance spends the next few days working harder in his rehearsals. Something about throwing himself into his work seems to ease the other thoughts buzzing around in his head. They’ve been poking at him at every moment of rest that he’s had. Thankfully, he's less tired than he thought he would be and his focus has returned. It makes sense to use most of it for all the work he has coming up.

It's only a week or two away from his first performance with the company and he can't afford to mess this opportunity up. After the last company, he needs to make the best impression he can, prove that he’s worth the chance they’ve given to him. He needs to focus and that means not checking his phone or thinking about what he could be doing with it. Those temptations can wait until later. He can think about thick arms and warm voices when he deserves a break.

Lance knows his diet and stretches and determination are worth it when Shiro, the company's choreographer, compliments him on his technique. It’s a high honour to receive the man’s attention, let alone praise. As a seasoned dancer himself, he knows the effort it takes to master choreography, even more so for the dances he creates.

Lance remembers first seeing Shiro dance on stage and wanting to be like him, to dance like he dances, and now he can barely believe that he's in the same room as him. He could never say to Shiro’s face how beautifully he moves when he focuses, how easily he loses himself to the movement, how he captures a raw power behind such elaborate finesse. He didn’t just exemplify male roles; he  _ defined _ them. Lance has a long way to go before he can even be close enough to call himself a peer.

Somehow knowing Shiro wants him to succeed makes the struggle worth it as he is pushed harder with every day that passes, leaving Lance drained when the day is over. The day's trials waft away once he arrives home and finds comfort in Hunk's shirt, and what begins as an innocent grab for a souvenir of attention and perhaps affection only grows with time.

At first, he sleeps with it by his side -- a memento, or perhaps a good luck charm. It finds a home in his bed, lounged across the covers or tucked beneath a pillow. As the nights pass, he starts drawing it to him in his sleep. His fingers reach out for that familiar scent, the touch of soft cotton, a memory of warmth and pleasure. It becomes entrapped in his arms, tangled in his limbs as the sun rises and peeks through the blinds. 

Every time it happens, Lance thinks of calling Hunk with the excuse of returning what isn’t his, what his arms cling to every night, but that would mean giving it back. Every morning Lance wakes to the smell of Hunk, of warmth and comfort, of linens and coconut oil, of  _ him _ . Giving it back would mean losing all of that, but perhaps he wouldn't need to lose that at all.

One morning with that thought fixed in his mind, Lance's thumb hovers over Hunk's number in his phone. A blank silhouette stares up where a picture should be, but Lance hasn’t been able to choose the right one yet nor does he have a single photo of Hunk’s to put in its place. It's minutes before he puts it down and reconsiders. He can't focus if he keeps thinking about Hunk, not when he's meant to be working on his routine.

Five days later, at the end of another week, Lance stares at his phone again, at that same missing image that he wishes he had. He has to do something. The shirt's starting to smell more like  _ he _ does and the idea of losing of that original comforting scent is starting to get to him.

Not even out of bed yet, Lance calls Hunk with a shaky touch of his finger. Bringing it to his ear feels like an eternity. It rings once, twice, three times before he hangs up. He can't. He can't call this early. Hunk won't be awake. Lance hasn't even talked today. He's not even really awake yet. The screen still looks blurry.

Lance barely has time to register how early it actually is beyond the glimpse of light through his blinds before his phone is ringing. Even through the morning haze, Lance can see it's Hunk calling him back. Though he doesn't need to read the screen to know that. Lance gulps and tries to ready himself. He's going to have to explain why he's calling so early.

Mouth going dry, Lance answers the call and puts his phone to his ear. "M-morning." His voice sounds croaky, barely capable of making sound. His shoulders draw up, sheets rustling softly as if in sympathy. 

"Morning." Hunk sounds amused. "You're up early." He doesn't sound surprised or annoyed like Lance had feared he might. There's a warmth there, a clarity ringing through like he's always up early and drinking coffee with a paper. He probably is, too. Lance decides he has to find out someday. 

"I could say the same for you. I'm still in bed." Lance doesn't need to say anything about how he can't sleep, or why he's calling a guy he basically had a fling with and has since clung to the shirt he took home. He can’t say that he’d happily lie in his bed all day listening to the timbre of that voice in his ear. Instead he shrugs his shoulders to himself, trying to calm the way his stomach keeps flipping.

Hunk hums, amusement still in his tone, and asks with a sudden change to sincere curiosity, "Why the call?" A quiet moment passes and all that can be heard is a slow inhale and the shuffling of clothes. Even Hunk’s breathing sounds so calming, relaxing, and yet still capable of setting of a flush of heat through him.

Lance stares at the wall, at the way the light hits the off-white paint and illuminates the room with an orange glow. It sinks in as his eyes fall to the sheets draped across him that Hunk isn't letting him try small talk. He can't really say he just wants to hear his voice so settles on the only thing he can think of with fabric clenched in his fingers. "I have your shirt."

"Breaking news!" Hunk laughs with a sound far too sincere and kind to ever use sarcasm for anything other than jest. His mirth melts away to a breathy comment. "’Course you do... there's no rush to get it back to me, but I would like to see it again at some stage." He’s serious, completely serious. All the laughter in his words are gone. He means it.

Lance swallows the squeak that threatens to expose the cracks in his composure. He’s cooler than this, totally. He can manage something back. "Yeah, I'm sure you can see your shirt again." It's too early for this. Lance covers his face with a pillow. He hopes Hunk didn't hear that.

Hunk sighs into the phone and it’s as if Hunk is breathing softly against his ear. Lance can even hear that smile of his. How much better would it be if Hunk was right here next to him. Shit. "I have something of yours too,” he adds like it’s an offer for a trade.

Lance scrambles to think what it is. He’s been playing their rendezvous in his head over and over, from the knock on the door, to the awkward massage, to the point where things got decidedly better. "I have all my clothes. I put them in the wash when I got home." He remembers it like yesterday, getting home, stuffing it all into the washing machine and making his way up to his bed. Lance omits the part where he almost came all over Hunk's shirt. (He missed.)

"Not... not all of them,” he pauses and lets the silence drag on for a few seconds. Lance’s heart is louder than he ever thought it could be. “I have a nice pink thong in my hand that says you forgot something." The tease in Hunk's tone makes Lance hard. Suddenly everything clicks and he can’t not picture Hunk turning over the lace in his big hand. The image settles firmly in his mind when Hunk adds with a hint of accusation, "You were too concerned with your dick."

Lance scoffs, struggling to remain calm. Images of Hunk’s sheets and the phantom sensation of a hand on his dick fill his mind. He tries to play it off light and confident, even if his heart is trying its own background percussion. "Of course. I'm always concerned with my dick." Peering down the folds of sheets lying across his bare chest, Lance realises the statement’s entirely true.

Hunk pauses and takes a breath. "Like right now?" He seems to hold that breath, biding his time to breathe out again when it’s safe. What must he be thinking, if he not only thinks Lance is thinking about his dick all the time, but also wants to know if he is in that moment.

Lance freezes as if Hunk might be watching and looks to the tent forming under the sheets. The shadows of the blinds falling across him only emphasise how much Hunk's voice is affecting him. He can only manage a shaky breath at first, hand snaking down his bare chest. "Very concerned."

Hunk's heavy breathing answers him back. Perhaps he can tell that Lance is letting his spare hand wander; maybe there's some kind of hint in his voice that tells Hunk he's enjoying himself. The breathing tells Lance nothing. 

"Should I..." Hunk's voice becomes lower and breathy in Lance's ear. “... Be concerned?" If he's just worried, asking politely, it sounds far from it. Maybe his breathing always sounds like this; maybe he's just being nice,  _ very _ nice.

Lance brushes his fingers under the hem of his boxers. Biting his lip, he slips his hand underneath to palm at his dick, holding back the sigh he so badly wants to let out. "Are you... concerned?" It's his turn to sound soft and low and hopefully just as syrupy and warm.

"Do you... want me to be?" Hunk's breath hitches. He's holding something back and if Lance is right, it sounds like he's touching himself. If only he could be in that room, or even just watch somehow. His imagination would have to do.

Lance wraps his fingers around his dick and starts pumping slowly. Neither of them are really saying what's coming out of their mouths. That much is clear. An electric hum seems to connect them, thrumming through the phone and coursing through Lance's nerves. Everything in him burns, hot and tingling, poking at his desire to get off with Hunk's breath in his ear.

"About my dick?" God, if Lance was braver, he might ask whether Hunk's working his hand over his own thick dick. He sighs instead. He doesn't want to break the fantasy that this big guy is into him ‘cause everything he's hearing fits into it so well that it'd be a shame to wake from this morning dream.

Hunk groans back and suddenly Lance knows he needs to hear it again. Hunk, however, delivers another blow below the belt with a statement that's more breath than words. "I was just thinking about how my grip had been."

Closing his eyes, Lance lets the memory take him, pretending it's Hunk's hand once again, gripping him and stroking his length in firm, strong motions. "When you pushed me down and rubbed against me?" Lance bucks into his hand. What he'd give to have that again.

"Y... yeah..." Hunk draws it out. Lance hears huffing then a shuddering inhale before Hunk continues, "I'm concerned about whether you liked it." A hint of worry tints his own words, a self-consciousness Lance hasn't heard until now.

Lance keeps bucking. "If I liked --" Lance's breath hitches. "-- Fucking --" He moans a breath out. "-- Your hand?" Hunk has to know he's jerking off. He's mimicking their last encounter with the same grip, the same thrust of his hips, and he knows just how much his voice breaks when he's so fucking turned on. It's not easy to forget.

Hunk practically moans back his own approval and wordlessly encourages Lance to keep talking. Fuck, he has to be touching himself too.  _ Fuck _ .

"Your ridiculously soft BIG hand gripping my cock? ‘Course I liked that." Lance strokes himself just a little faster. He could keep going, listing off all the details he's imagined a hundred times, but that's a surefire way to make himself vulnerable. "How could I not?"

"Uh-huh..." Hunk whispers back to him over the sound of something slick and wet. Oh god, what Lance would give to be able to watch him, to touch him. He's probably leaking precome everywhere, slicked himself up real good.

"But you know what I like?" Lance is really doing this. Fuck, he's doing this. They're doing this. He can't stop himself now. It's too good. "Working slow, rubbing a thumb through my precome, teasing me until I'm breathless." He follows exactly what he says, barely holding back a moan. 

Hunk whimpers down the phone, making Lance's dick twitch in his hand. Hunk likes this. For once Lance seems to have found Hunk's weakness. All Lance has to do is narrate everything he's doing to himself. "...touching up my chest. You've seen how much I like being touched, yeah?"

At this stage, the slow movements are frustrating. He's so ready to give in and get off. It's not like they don't know what they're doing. With a short breath in, Lance picks up the pace and whines at the thought of Hunk's hand replacing his own.

"And then grabbing me, hard, working me over relentless." Lance throws his head back, closing his eyes. "God, if you touched me right now..." He'd probably come straight away.

"Oh yeah?" Hunk's choked breath is followed immediately with a groan. It hides anything else going on in the background, the stuff Lance wishes he could hear better, but wait… 

Shit. Lance had said that aloud. He'd actually said that. Oh fuck. Lance can feel himself about to lose it at the sound of Hunk's voice. He's already gotten this far. "Yeah, oh god yeah. F-fuck, Hunk, I'm --"

Lance goes faster, hand gripping and pulling, thumbing through the wet, and his body spasms as his orgasm hits him. He comes over his hand, finally letting out the moans he'd been holding back. Struggling to hear over his own voice, he presses the phone harder against his ear and can just make the sound of a low moan and a grunt. He's almost proud he got Hunk to come.

"So uh..." Lance starts, barely able to talk. He can't believe how embarrassing and hot that was. "That's a good start to the morning." He wipes the cum on his hand off on his shorts. He'll clean that later.

Hunk's voice sounds hoarse. "Definitely. " He laughs before adding, "I, uh, think I might need to see my shirt sooner than I thought." Fuck, he sounds cute when he's like this, not quite sheepish but not quite cocky, a nice cozy place in between.

"Yeah, your shirt's probably missing you." Lance reaches above his pillow to tug the familiar fabric to his face. He can't help himself. He barely has time to think before he says anything and the main thing on his mind is Hunk's voice, blurring any attempt at clear thought anyway.

Lance's still stuck on the fact he just had phone sex with the guy he was calling to ask out. The shirt was meant to be some clever ruse. How is he supposed to follow that phone call now? He buries his face into the shirt and wishes he knew how to hang up in Hunk's ear.

"Just the shirt?" Hunk asks and says nothing more helpful. How is Lance supposed to answer that? Of course not just the shirt. Lance misses him as much as a guy who's met anyone twice could miss him, but he can't say that, can he? That's too much, isn't it?

Thank god Hunk can't see him blush. "No...?" His voice is unsteady, but the weight of everything he’s unable to say comes through with it. Hunk sounds relieved without saying anything else. Lance’s voice almost squeaks when he blurts out, "Come to my show. Ballet. Next week. Uh."

"You're asking me to your performance?" Hunk seems genuinely surprised. Maybe he's not really interested or isn't into dancing. It's a lot to ask straight away. Hopefully he's actually pleasantly surprised.

Lance gulps. It is the best he can do post-orgasm without breakfast. "You guessed I'm a dancer, right? Might as well come see me dance. If you want to. I can give you your shirt then." Lance would rather keep it. He'll have to give it back with the knowledge of where it's touched and what it's seen.

"It's a date!" Hunk says and quickly backtracks. "I mean, well, you know, more of a... you invite me and... anyway, sure. Sounds great." His words tumble out of his word in his rush, followed by the clearing of his throat and a few awkward laughs.

Holy shit Hunk's going to see him dance. His first performance with the company. He didn't even hesitate to say he'd come. Lance can barely hold in his excitement or the thoughts that Hunk had said the word  _ date _ . "I'll get you a ticket. Up front so you can't miss me."

"I look forward to the view," Hunk hums in that teasing tone of his. Lance melts into the sheets. He actually wants to see him perform. He's going to have to perform his best, make a good impression, and then somehow work out what to do afterwards.

"I'll leave one under your name." It's not quite a date, but maybe it is? Does it count as a date if he's on stage and the handsome guy he asked is in the audience? Lance isn't entirely sure. Even Hunk seemed to awkwardly avoid using the word. "I'll see you then?"

Lance can feel his heart pounding. It's so loud that he's surprised he can hear the answer. "I can't wait." How did Hunk manage to smile with everything he said? "It'll be good to see you again."

"Same." Lance is beyond breathless. How is he like this? How is Hunk like this? He needs to get off the phone before he says something stupid and fucks everything up with his big mouth. "I should probably go shower." Dammit.

As soon as he says it, he freezes, remembering how Hunk had kissed him in that shower, how he had kissed back. He's thought about that moment but with Hunk's voice in his ear, his body feels like it's tingling, too light to stay on the bed. He might just float away with the cloud tinted by sunrise.

"Same," Hunk echoes. It's unreasonably fair for someone to have such an effect and not even realise it. Lance assumes he has no idea just how great of a guy he is. Even after what they've just done he's still so sweet.

The image of Hunk making a mess of himself because of Lance's voice nearly makes Lance squeak down the phone. "Have a good day, Hunk." He has to get off the phone before he does something to ruin the glow in the room that the light through the blinds can't compare to.

"You too, Lance... bye," Hunk responds, and for a second Lance thinks or maybe just wishes that he doesn't want to hang up either. He can dream, and he probably will.

"Bye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how much I love these two? Lance actually stepped up and did something after... doing something else ;) I'll have the next chapter done pretty soon! It's already halfway there!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> If you'd like to read more, feel free to subscribe as I have another 6 chapters already outlined and partly written, OR read ahead in the [super long twitter thread](https://twitter.com/particlebarrier/status/783887865759404032).
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr (@foxberryblue)](https://foxberryblue.tumblr.com/) and Twitter ([@foxberryblue](http://twitter.com/foxberryblue) or [@particlebarrier](http://twitter.com/particlebarrier)).


	5. Can't Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dress rehearsals become more and more exhausting as Shiro insists they perfect their movements, that they work together as a team. Other dancers seem entirely unfazed by the upcoming performance. They've been on that stage before, know their audience, know what to expect. Lance, however, despite his previous experience, finds himself more exhausted by the anticipation than he thought he would be, even if many of the others try to make him feel less so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently commissioned Marcus to draw this [beautiful piece](https://twitter.com/TojoLens/status/860985355553521664) of a scene in chapter 3. Be sure to check it out :D
> 
> A shorter chapter than normal, but it's probably for the best. Probably...

Lance barely has time to call Hunk over the next week. Given his debut performance with the company coming soon, he rehearses every day. The rehearsals seem to blur together, steps becoming the only thing he remembers beyond keeping to his approved diet and his daily skincare routine.

The mornings start with a fresh breakfast, a number of stretches, and a warm up with his fellow dancers in one of the company's rehearsal rooms. He follows the routine under Shiro's instruction, tightening his form, relaxing into the motion, focusing on getting it right. He’s come so far since his first week. It's almost perfect.

Each of the dancers take to the stage synchronised, flowing in quick steps and leaps. It’s a sight to see, with Shiro's choreography bringing out their strength and grace all at once. Their rehearsals are soon a success and the look of approval on Shiro’s face sets them all at ease.

Not a moment passes where Lance doesn't feel excitement build, not sure if it's for his debut or for the knowledge that Hunk will see him. He tries not to imagine seeing that face again, so attentive and kind, watching his pirouettes and tours en l’aires and grandes jetées. He dreams of getting a glimpse of wonder on Hunk’s face, impressing him with what he does and what he is and what he's worked so hard for. The applause after wouldn’t hold a candle to the smile on Hunk's face or the look in his eye.

As Lance prances across the stage, his eyes linger on the seat he’s secured for opening night. The very place he'll see Hunk's smile again. He runs through the motions with that seat in mind, imagining how it must look from that angle, and whether he can present himself any better.

Lance fights off the nerves by working them into his technique, into the lifts of other dancers, into the extension of his arms and legs. He's been doing this most of his life. His entire family has seen him perform. This shouldn’t be that different, surely, but everything in his body says otherwise.

The dress rehearsals become more and more exhausting as Shiro insists they perfect their movements, that they work together as a team. Other dancers seem entirely unfazed by the upcoming performance. They've been on that stage before, know their audience, know what to expect. Lance, however, despite his previous experience, finds himself more exhausted by the anticipation than he thought he would be, even if many of the others try to make him feel less so.

Every evening after rehearsal is finished, Lance collapses when he arrives home, grabbing Hunk's shirt for comfort, reminding himself that this time he'll be dancing for Hunk to see. He wants to impress him and then maybe, just maybe, they’ll hit it off for real. Maybe then there’ll be something there… though if Lance is to be honest, he wouldn’t mind another round of getting off together. He instead ends up with Hunk’s shirt in his arms.

The days pass much the same, barely a moment of thought free from the routine, and yet his thoughts of Hunk build until he can’t take them anymore. He acts on impulse, and in a moment of peace, Lance texts Hunk details on how to pick up his ticket. His fingers jitter as he types. He can’t remember the last time he felt this nervous.

 _'The ticket's under your name at the box office. Opening night. Got you front row'_ is all he manages to type. He wants to say so much more but Lance doesn't know what he should say. Reading over it, he worries it looks bland. Is he supposed to say hi, or use emojis, or maybe he can make it sound a lot cooler? Why doesn't he ask how Hunk is? It's been days.

The answer comes back just as short. Lance heart races when he reads _'can't wait :) see you soon'_. He clutches the phone to his chest. He’s never been one to be that sentimental, and certainly not to the point of hugging his phone, but he’s there in his kitchen smiling like a dork from a handful of letters on a screen.

Lance pauses, shaking, not sure whether he should reply. Unable to stop himself, needing to say something, he replies, _'enjoy the view ;)'_. It’s simple and neat. Anything more and Lance might stress himself out too much before the performance has even started. He tucks his phone away with a grin on his face and butterflies in his stomach.

Opening night approaches quicker than Lance even realises. Shiro takes the time to run Lance through everything the company normally does for the sake of protocol, like some kind of initiation ceremony. It's not Lance's first performance on stage, but Shiro makes sure that Lance is comfortable and not out of his depth. Lance appreciates the gesture.

Halfway through the backstage tour, Shiro introduces him to Pidge, the peculiar bespeckled stagehand who appears to assess anyone within range before tinkering with their equipment. They peer up at Lance through round-rimmed glasses, green eyes flecked with hints of gold that seem to match, and figure too obscured and lanky to give much else away at all. Their bangs perching just over the glass are a bushy mess, much like the rest of their short hair. Their clothes are just as simple: a tawny set of overalls over a pale green tee and Doc Martens laced over their peculiarly small feet.

"If you need anything, lemme know," they say with a salute before disappearing into the shadows of backstage, from whence they likely came. For such a small person and one so fascinatingly mundane, they have a certain air of mystery, and a demeanour that says it shouldn't be questioned.

In the hours before curtain, Lance continues to go over the most difficult parts of the choreography in a side rehearsal room. He can't stop repeating the choreography in his head, Shiro's voice correcting him as he goes. Despite the wall of mirrors and the lack of distractions, he's still not quite getting it right. His form is missing something. He can feel it every time he turns and leaps and lands.

Focussed and determined, Lance lands funny after a basic leap, foot turning in an odd way, but he keeps going. The pain is likely to subside, knowing what his body's like. He needs this to be perfect, and nothing less will do. He ignores the pain in his foot and stretches his leg into perfect form, smiling at his technique, knowing Hunk will be able to see all the work he's putting in.

Lance tries again, practising the turns and the leaps and landing on his right foot with a twinge of sharp pain. He dismisses it as nothing. Muscles have a way of communicating the wrong moves, so all he has to do is alter his body a little. His shoes have been checked, his leotard is comfortable, his dance belt is firmly in place, and he's so warmed up that anything not working is just a small bump to be ironed out.

Lance takes a deep breath and stretches once more. He can do this. He's got this. He moves through the motions again, trying not to wince. Biting his lip seems to work if he focuses on the music he imagines playing in the background. One step leads to another, and the pain is just practice, just following through on the motions, creating a masterpiece in dance.

So close to getting it right, Lance makes one more go at it. He works up to the leap, perfect posture, perfect technique, and he jumps just right. The lift is just enough, his turn moves just how it should, and the air glides past him with a sense of lightness. He smiles brightly at his accomplishment.

When he lands, his right foot twists, turns in a way it's not meant to. All Lance knows next is that he's on the ground, aching and burning. Lance stares at the floor, breathing heavily, leg splayed out before him. He only becomes aware that Shiro is there when the man's hand grabs hold of his shoulder.

The moments pass in a blur of rehearsal room lights and reflections, the dark floor shining with a sickly sheen like it had been coated by nervous sweat. Lance stares at Shiro's shoulder as he's lifted from the ground, legs dangling over an arm, then at the rush of people around him. Their eyes expose him and his mistake, searing through him as hot as the burn in his foot.

He feels everything before he knows what's going on. He's in Shiro's arms and staring at a broad chest that's never been this close. There are fingers on his feet removing his shoes and then they're off to somewhere else. The movement is so fluid that for a second it matches the music still playing.

It's an hour before curtain by the time Lance realises that he's backstage in one chair and his leg is propped on another. A fluffed up pillow rests beneath it on the colourful blue paint of a disused prop chair. His foot is still burning, muscle and tendon twisted like they might snap if he turns too far. He furrows his brows, struggling to make sense of what's happening.

"What on earth were you doing?" Pidge asks, pressing a cold pack to the injury. The surprise of the cold makes him hiss, the chill tickling his bare foot. Pidge is speaking again before he can ask what it looks like down there. "It's just a sprain, but damn, you fucked it." The golden rim of their glasses glints in the backstage lamps.

The panic sets in, a sudden drop in temperature grabbing hold of his skin like clammy hands. He's not going to be able to stand, or put weight on his foot, or extend his leg, or dance. It hurts far too much for that. And if he can't dance, Hunk can't _see_ him dance. Lance glances at his surroundings and almost chokes around the pathetically hopeful sound of his voice. "It's nothing. It'll be fine, right?" He has to believe it will be, or else he might be completely swarmed by despair. 

Pidge looks at him with a forward tilt of their head, glasses sliding down the short curve of their nose. "You're joking." Their tone flat and full of disbelief, they purse their lips in the epitome of disapproval. The look in their eyes includes a hint of pity, and it only prompts Lance to deny this is really happening.

"I just... landed funny. I need to be out there tonight." Lance feels the surge of disappointment in himself take over his chest. He’s pushed himself too hard, could have easily avoided this pain, and not have Pidge pushing the ice pack harder into his feet. "Please." He just has to convince them that he's fine and he can get right out there. He'll deal with the pain after. That'll work.

"It's not happening," Shiro cuts in, then squats down by Lance's side. His stern tone shatters any semblance of hope Lance is still holding in the weak grasp of his straining mind. "I saw how you landed. You might be fine in a day or two, but not now."

Lance hadn't even noticed he was there. "Look, it's my debut. I should be out there." This is a nightmare. Hunk's probably arriving now. God, he probably dressed up for it and everything.

The image of Hunk sitting there alone so excited to see him, only to not see him at all for the entire performance, makes Lance want to hide away. There's only a small respite in the fact Lance gave him a free ticket, but that’s the only one he can get. There won’t be another time. Hunk’s going to watch everyone but him.

Watching a fellow dancer rush past him as curtain approaches, Lance tries to not imagine the confused or even disappointed look on Hunk's face. The curtain would rise, revealing the first scene, leading to the introduction of his understudy: an amazing dancer who would steal the stage in the way Lance had hoped _he_ would.

Pidge stays by his side for the first 30 minutes, before excusing themselves to take care of the technical equipment. He watches helplessly as they walk away and leave him to sit there alone. His foot still aches, but it can’t compete with the aching in his chest.

The music starts, the dancers make their way out onto the stage, and Lance wishes he could be anywhere but backstage, unable to move. There’s no escaping the sound of hushed anticipation in the audience. It’s almost deafening.

Lance listens to the movements, running through each of the positions in his head. He knows them all. He learned them all, but he can't do them. So he closes his eyes to walk through the steps in his mind, feeling his muscles tense like he might leap to his feet and show them he’s still fine.

It's when the music changes that Lance realises he's tearing up. He worked so hard to get here, and he's managed to ruin it all by himself. There’s no telling when his foot will be okay again, nor how the company will feel about their newest acquisition failing so spectacularly so soon. The music haunts him as the performance goes on without him.

When intermission comes, Lance is sniffling, still managing to hold back the tears. No one says anything, assuming he's reacting to the pain. He’s too upset with himself to really feel the shame of being so exposed, but still, none of the dancers can look him in the eye. They pass with sympathetic smiles and downcast eyes.

Pidge returns with a fresh cold pack and without the wisecracks. They keep him company with a few pats to the leg. The sympathy and gentle touch distracts him from the work going on around him. Making a point to look away from his leg and at them, Lance manages a defeated smile.

Lance can only picture how intermission must have been for Hunk, all alone, not having seen Lance at all -- and, worse, still hoping to see him. He might yet be sitting there, not knowing when Lance is meant to come on stage. The sound of the audience returning to their seats feels like it’s accusing him for not saying more.

The second act starts soon after, and Pidge disappears again. Lance buries his face in his hands and lets himself cry in his disappointment. The tears smear the touch of makeup on his face and run down his palms. His fingers dig into his hair and press into his scalp as he fails to hold himself together.

Lance grabs at his costume, wondering if tears stain fabric like this. He could try to stand to take it off, but it'd only make things worse. He’ll just have to sit here in the outfit he was meant to wear. The tights over his legs only serve to remind him that he’s not meant to be sitting here on his own.

If he'd thought about it, he could have gotten Pidge or someone to find Hunk and let him know what happened. It wasn't unheard of to do that. Why didn't he think of doing so earlier? Why didn't he ask for his phone? Why did he think it was a good idea to push himself so hard? The thoughts don’t stop coming into his head.

The music ends, signaling the end of the show and the start of a new ache in his heart. Lance isn't sure if he's more relieved or more upset when he hears the clapping outside. Where he’d once thought of it being a measure of his performance, his skill, its meaning now is far more empty. The audience loved the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Lance :c He shouldn't have to wait too long for it all to be over, surely~ We'll just have to wait until I finish the next chapter >w<
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> If you'd like to read more, feel free to subscribe as I have another 6 chapters already outlined and partly written, OR read ahead in the [super long twitter thread](https://twitter.com/particlebarrier/status/783887865759404032).
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr (@foxberryblue)](https://foxberryblue.tumblr.com/) and Twitter ([@foxberryblue](http://twitter.com/foxberryblue) or [@particlebarrier](http://twitter.com/particlebarrier)).


	6. No One's Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstage fills with all of his fellow dancers, casting their eye aside as they make their way past him. They know he wasn't out on stage with them, they can tell he's been out here crying, and they make an effort not to embarrass him further by acknowledging he's there. Lance is grateful for that, at least, but he wants to get out of there as soon as he's able.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a busy of couple of months for me but here's the new chapter so many of you have been waiting for. Enjoy!

Dazed and lost in his own silence, Lance stares towards the applause and feels his heart sink. The thought that one of those sets of clapping hands belongs to Hunk weighs heavy. The idea of him sitting there, confused, wondering where Lance was during the performance hits him somewhere between his ribs and robs him of his next breath.

His breathing returns with slow shaky inhales beneath the threat of tears. He barely notices Shiro's by his side until his foot is being checked mere minutes after. Lance watches, like he's not quite in his body anymore, as Shiro inspects the swelling. "Have you got a way home? I'm sure we can organise a ride with someone...?"

Lance can only think of Hunk, waiting outside, milling with the crowd leaving the theatre. He needs his phone, needs to say something, apologise and beg to see Hunk again. "I need my phone. Please." He realises he looks like he's been crying. Everyone can tell.

Thankfully there's no change in Shiro's expression when their eyes finally meet. He stares with concern, like he knows more than he’s saying, and without the judgement Lance had been afraid might be there. There's not even a word between them before Shiro hurries off with a nod.

Backstage fills with all of his fellow dancers, casting their eye aside as they make their way past him. They know he wasn't out on stage with them, they can tell he's been out here crying, and they make an effort not to embarrass him further by acknowledging he's there. Lance is grateful for that, at least, but he wants to get out of there as soon as he's able.

It's not long before Pidge is tapping at his shoulder. They stand very still, more still than Lance has ever seen them. A concerned frown grows on their face when they announce uncertainly, "There's a big anxious guy outside saying he knows you? Says you got him a ticket?"

Lance's eyes widen. A big, anxious guy. That says he got a ticket. They can't mean... It can't be anyone else. It has to be Hunk. Lance’s stomach is flipping and he sits up straighter than he has for hours.

Pidge continues, squinting their eyes at the sudden change, "Says he wants to see you. Should I let him back here? If you don't know him, I can tell him to go." They throw a thumb over their shoulder, pointing to the stage door. They clear their throat after a long awkward moment of silence.

Lance feels a nervous smile forming on his face. He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but they're floating upwards like rogue helium balloons, rising too quickly to pull them back down again. He quickly wipes at his face, tears coating the backs of his hands. "Yeah, yeah, he can... please. Um, I know him. Bring him in?" Pidge disappears before he’s finished speaking.

Lance assesses himself. He likely looks a mess with red puffy eyes from all that crying. He's too nervous to care. Normally he would be fixing his outfit and trying to look his best but he's sat here too long worrying about Hunk and disappointed in himself. Now Hunk is coming to see him and he’s going to come face to face with everything he’s worried about. He doesn't even know what he'll say. He's too worn out to feel embarrassed anymore, but he's anxious all the same.

When Pidge returns, Hunk follows behind, his hands working over each other, wringing in worry. He’s dressed in a sharp suit, the middle button pulled taut across his chest. His shirt is a crisp grey behind a shiny gold tie that hangs loosely around his neck. It seems he was partway through taking it off and forgot about it. His hair is ruffled, almost messy, like he’s run his hands through it for the entire performance. Lance would’ve smiled more and even enjoyed the view if his heart wasn’t beating so loudly.

Hunk stands silently until he sits on a chair Pidge gives him. He moves carefully, like he might spook Lance if he moves too fast. His eyes never leave Lance's face. They still look so warm, filled with the caramelly sweetness that seems to pour out of him whenever Lance is near. It’s almost unfair, but then he also looks like he’s worried himself sick.

"Hi," Lance says sheepishly, not sure if he should be smiling. He's relieved that Hunk came to see him, even if the regrets are eating at him. His foot might still be aching, but the sight of Hunk dressed up so nicely and so concerned about him seems to make something else in him twinge.

Hunk smiles and reaches out to rub a hand affectionately over Lance's right leg. "This isn't the view I thought you meant," he teases with just a hint of humour in his voice, unable to mask the genuine concern behind it that makes the joke fall flat. His smile is cautious, a twitch of his lips.

"No... sorry." Lance closes his eyes to stop the tears and feels them sting. His head is hurting and his body is aching and all he wants to do is apologise endlessly for making such a stupid mistake. He just wanted one thing tonight and he managed to ruin that. "I really wanted you to see me dance. Now--"

"Shhh," Hunk soothes, shuffling closer on his chair. The people around them seem to be just as disinterested in him as they were in Lance moments ago. While soft, Hunk’s voice has no trouble standing out amongst the sound of passing footsteps. "It's fine."

Lance's eyes snap open. "It's not fine. I wanted you to see me dance. You wanted to see me dance. Now I don't know when I'll be... okay." It's then that Lance realises he's broken. Not just injured, but broken. He's going to need time to mend, to be able to move right again. He joined this company only recently and now he’s practically thrown that opportunity away because he was worried over a guy he liked.

Hunk leans over Lance's injured foot, inspecting it with gentle touches. Hunk almost makes the pain fade away with the way he presses in. His thumb seems so much larger next to Lance’s foot it’s almost laughable. Hunk hums like he’s doing the most natural thing in the world. "You'll be fine if you rest. It's not that bad." Hunk runs a soothing caress up Lance's leg. "It's a good thing they didn't let you dance."

Lance has to hide a small pout at Hunk's words. Even he seems to know that Lance is the kind of person to push himself through the pain. It’s not something dancers are supposed to do. He should know better, but with the pressure of having to prove himself, to show he deserves that spot over everyone else who auditioned, he’s got to try so hard to measure up.

"But you came to see me dance and I wasn't even on stage! Now I don't even know when you'll get to see me --" Lance's voice starts to crack. It sinks in as he falls back into his chair. It might be weeks before he’s in good enough condition to dance again, at least at the levels the company will expect from a new guy like him. He was fortunate enough to have landed an ensemble role, but there’s no telling what he’ll be now, if ever.

Hunk shuffles forward and silences Lance with a hand on his cheek. His palm is unsurprisingly warm and soft, and holds Lance’s face up so he can’t miss a word that Hunk says next. "It wouldn't have been the first time, and it won't be the last." His eyes are staring with such intent. He means what’s he’s saying.

"Wait --" Lance freezes as Hunk's other hand cups his face, holding him up as the realisation hits him. Not the first time? Hunk has seen him dance before. What? When? Lance's face is burning to the point that Hunk’s hands almost feel cool against his skin. "What?!"

Lance immediately lowers his tone and sucks air back into his lungs as his mouth gapes. "You've -- you -- you have... why I am just learning this?" He can feel his eyebrows scrunching and raising again, but his eyes stare straight at Hunk as his mind races on and on and on. Hunk has already seen him dance.

"Uh..." Hunk chuckles, face reddening. If Lance hadn’t been staring at him so intently, he might have missed it, but there’s no missing the flush of colour that overtakes his face so beautifully. Hunk breaks eye contact and shrugs. "That's not really something you bring up... mid-massage, mid... uh..." He clears his throat once and then again. Lance thinks he's cute when he's flustered. "I had my suspicions when I met you, but it wasn't until we got in the room that I realised it was you? I guess?" Hunk removes his hands and doesn’t seem to know where to put them. He quickly settles them in his lap, fingers tapping together, unable to keep still.

Lance forgets his foot and tries to move closer to Hunk. His sprain answers him with a sharp pain and he winces. He’s going to have to reconsider how he moves later, but for now he has things he wants to know. "Really?" Lance blushes, face hot and tear-stained, while he starts to remember what embarrassment feels like.

Hunk laughs shyly. "Suddenly that hot ballet dancer you noticed on stage is waiting for you to touch him... uh... I was nervous." Dressed in his suit, he still manages to shrug and hold his hands like he’s a man much smaller in stature. He stops fidgeting with his hands and stares back.

"YOU were nervous?" Lance can't believe he's hearing this. He loves every second. If he weren’t sitting here and unable to jump to his feet, he might have nudged Hunk in the shoulder to tease him some more. Instead his voice does the jumping for him, going up an octave in disbelief. "What about you? You're big... everywhere... it seems."

Hunk shakes his head. "I'm... not exactly... what most people find attractive. I really don't get what you see in me. I'm..." Hunk goes quiet and his eyes drop to his lap. He’s more nervous and self-conscious than he’s ever appeared before.

Lance rushes forward, foot be damned, and pulls Hunk's face to his. His lips move against Hunk's, working out every feeling in his chest. There's a mixture of gratitude and appreciation and lust and admiration humming out of him as he gasps and Hunk deepens the kiss.

The stage lights could have turned on and Lance’s eyes would have stayed shut anyway. He focuses all his attention on the scent he knows so well, the curve of the jaw he’s stared at for hours, and the soft way Hunk's hair brushes against his fingers when he grasps the back of Hunk’s neck. He realises in between meetings of their lips that he’s practically clinging, wanting to be closer, wishing the room around them would disappear.

Lance sighs, eyes closed, when he pulls away with a soft smack of his lips. He swears for a moment that Hunk chases after him, but stops himself short. Lance wants to lean in again, forget everything that's happened tonight, but then his foot aches and he remembers that the night is still not done.

Before he can utter a complaint, Hunk moves Lance's leg back into position. He doesn't even seem fazed by it, by the casual ease with which he moves Lance’s body. His face seems flushed, though. There’s so many reasons that might be. All the possibilities make Lance smile to himself.

"I..." Lance begins, head dizzy from the kiss. He knows what he wants to say but not how to say it, and with everyone around, he trails off entirely. His eyes dart between the dancers chatting to each other about their performance, to the crew behind the scenes, and to Shiro off in the corner who hovers around to congratulate everyone.

Hunk waits, a cautious look on his face, wanting to hear what Lance has to say. He’s so patient sitting there that Lance has trouble looking him in the eye. Hunk probably sat with that same patience while waiting for him to come on stage.

Lance shakes his head, still nervous. "Some night.” He takes a deep breath and feels his body shake as he exhales. Having Hunk in front of him still makes him feel guilty, even if he is so maddeningly happy that he’s here. He doesn’t know if he should cry again or simply grab onto Hunk’s hand and thank him for everything. Regardless, he can barely move.

"How are you getting home?" Hunk asks with a pointed glance at Lance's foot. His face softens, eyebrows drawn together, lips forming a concerned frown. The backstage lights hit his features just right, caressing his cheeks with a soft glow.

Lance shrugs slowly. "Not driving myself. That's for sure." He hasn’t thought that far. Now that everyone around him is leaving and the area around them is clearing out, he realises he has no plan. He has no idea what’s he’s going to do with his foot like this.  
  
Hunk goes quiet and a small smile spreads over his face. "Guess I'm going to have to take you home again.” His hand pats Lance's legs, gentle and reassuring. The look in his warm brown eyes mirrors the touch. “It's like you do this on purpose."

"What?! No, I didn't -- my car's here this time, okay? I just can't -- You don't mind, do you?" Lance rambles, eyes open wide and ready to cry again. He can feel it behind the shame and guilt and relief. He's cried too much already tonight and if it weren't for the audience around him he might have spluttered out a thank you again and again. Overcome with his embarrassment, he sinks down into his chair.  
  
Hunk’s face melts into an even softer smile and then he chuckles into his chest. The look on his face is wistful with a hint of cheek. "I was hoping to take you out for a celebratory dinner after this, but I guess... home is best." Hunk looks back up with a glint in his eyes and tilts his head thoughtfully. "Hmm..."  
  
"Dinner?! Take me out?!" Lance barely lets anything else sink into his head. Hunk wanted -- no, wants -- to take him somewhere, like a date. He’s planning on taking him home. He wants a date. Lance can’t remember if his house is clean or if he has food in his cupboard. So many thoughts run through his head.  
  
Hunk nudges at his leg and pulls Lance out of his thought spiral. "What? It's not like we haven't..." He starts trailing off as other people in the company walk past. Peering around, he frowns a little and clears his throat before he adds, "You know..."

Lance licks over his bottom lip, smirking. Seeing Hunk nervous is delicious and additionally precious in its own way. "Yeah, I know," he declares with a wiggle of his shoulders. He tries to pass his reaction off as a joke when he still can't get over the idea. The idea that someone as nice as Hunk would actually spend time with someone like himself, because he wants to, because he likes to.  
  
"I can't exactly take you anywhere, but I could cook us something at your place? If that's not... weird?" His hand brushes over Lance’s leg but he doesn’t seem to realise that he’s doing it, that he wants to be reassuring through touch as well.

Lance's eyes dart around, catching a glimpse of Pidge watching and smiling to themself. "That's... yeah. Sounds good?" He laughs nervously. He knows he’s going to hear about this later. There’s no doubt about that. Lance is sure they’ve _seen_ it all but hopes that they haven’t heard the whole thing.

Before Lance can get another word in, Hunk has one arm under his knees and another behind his back. "Okay, I'm going to lift you in three." He nods and squats down, positioning himself just right, making sure to support Lance’s foot without knocking it. He’s so careful that it seems like he’s about to carry something fragile instead of another man.

Lance's eyes widen, staring at Hunk squatting down and getting close to him, gulping at the way his grip seems to ready itself to lift him. He can feel the muscle beneath the skin. Lance himself has muscle, as all dancers do, but Hunk's is different, built different. Most of his dancing career has been spent lifting others. It’s a foreign concept to be lifted himself.

"One, two, three!" Hunk says with warning before he grunts and lifts Lance off the chair like he weighs nothing, pushing up with his knees. He pulls Lance close to his chest, seeming to roll him in his arms. The sudden tug draws an embarrassing sound from Lance's lips and he quickly hides his face against Hunk.  
  
"No one's watching," Hunk whispers and starts moving. His words are reassuring, calming, but in their sound Lance can hear just a hint of amused pride. Carrying Lance is nothing to him and he doesn’t seem to share any of the shame or embarrassment. Not a bit.

Lance closes his eyes tight. He's sure that everyone is watching. It'd be hard not to. It’s not every day that a stranger comes backstage and carries anyone out, especially someone who just kissed the guy he’s carrying. Lance hasn't said anything to any of them about Hunk, but here the man is, carrying him outside and taking him home. He can feel their eyes.  
  
Lance tests out a nuzzle against Hunk's chest. It feels so much better than he’d imagined, and he’d imagined snuggling against it more often than he’ll probably ever admit. Hiding his face seems to keep the embarrassment at bay, and even the jostling as Hunk walks outside into the cool air feels comforting. "Everyone saw that..."  
  
Hunk hums out a small laugh. "So?" He lifts Lance just a little, like he’s showing off. Every time he nods at a stranger on their way out to the carpark his arms seem to tense. He’s enjoying every second of this.

"So they know you're taking me home." Lance's face feels like it's burning. He wonders what they'll think. He wonders what questions he’s going to be asked when he comes in next time. All the business with his foot will be long forgotten now they’ve seen him pull a man into a kiss and be carried offstage. Gossip is bound to spread.  
  
"And what?" Hunk squeezes at Lance's thigh. His tone gets a little quieter, more cautious. "They'll think we're together or something?" He’s still teasing, but his eyes when he looks down say something altogether different, like a challenge or a question or a hope. Perhaps all of them at once.  
  
Lance almost shakes, wondering when they'll get to Hunk's car so he's not so close. For a second he swears he can hear Hunk's heartbeat. He leans in just a little more, trying to listen out for it. Maybe being so close and held so well in public isn’t so bad when he can only see Hunk.  
  
When Lance doesn't answer, Hunk adds, "So what if they think anything... It's not like we haven't gotten --" He stops at Lance’s loud shush, laughs through his nose, and continues with a smile. "Uh-huh..." Hunk starts putting him down and Lance protests with incoherent noises before he realises that they've reached Hunk's car.  
  
Hunk throws him a grin before he opens the passenger door and lifts him again to put him into the seat. Lance squeaks and blushes more. He’s not used to this -- he doubts he’ll ever get used to this -- but there’s absolutely no denying that he likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunk is Lance's knight, just without the shining armour ;) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> If you'd like to read more, feel free to subscribe as I have another 5 chapters already outlined and partly written, OR read ahead in the [super long twitter thread](https://twitter.com/particlebarrier/status/783887865759404032).
> 
> You can find me on Twitter ([@foxberryblue](http://twitter.com/foxberryblue) or [@particlebarrier](http://twitter.com/particlebarrier)) or you can ask me any questions or leave comments on [Curiouscat](http://curiouscat.me/particlebarrier)


	7. Feels Much Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk lays him down gently, propping up his head and foot with pillows. “You’re not allowed to move.” His eyes wander over Lance’s mess of bedsheets while his hands pat the pillows he’d just arranged. The gesture seems more comforting than anything else. His eyes don’t leave Lance’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken me a while but it's finally here! I've already started on the next chapter so here's hoping it won't take me so long this time.
> 
> Don't forget to tell me what you love about this chapter and this story! I love hearing it!

Hunk doesn't say anything as he drives them to Lance's place. His hands grip the steering wheel firmly, fingers twitching like he’s itching to move them. His lips press together like he’s holding secrets back while his eyes dart over at Lance, sneaking glances from shoulders to feet. His concern is admirable, even sweet.

Hunk even keeps silent when he helps Lance out of the car and lifts him again. His arms slide under Lance’s knees and behind his back like they were always meant to go there. He fits somehow -- not quite like a glove, but just as comfortable. 

"I-I'm fine. I can do it," Lance whines. He stares down at the concrete while Hunk nudges the car door closed with his knee. They make their way to the apartment complex in a few seconds. There's just three flights of stairs up to his apartment. Lance can manage. He doesn’t need help getting up there. He’s managed it after a night of partying so hard that even the floor was swaying with him.  
  
Hunk's grip tightens and Lance’s breath hitches. Hunk isn't letting go of him any time soon. "I'm not going to watch you injure yourself trying." He laughs through his teeth as he talks, tone serious because he means it and yet he still manages to sound soft. His feet meet the concrete stairs like every step is him figuratively putting his foot down, too.   
  
Lance pouts the entire way up the stairs to his apartment. There’s a helplessness to his predicament -- nothing he can do without causing more injury to himself -- and knowing that makes him a little bitter. Even with his pout, his lips threaten to smile while Hunk simply chuckles in his ear all the way up to his door.   
  
Hunk’s grin only grows bigger as Lance struggles with his keys, finding it considerably harder to turn them when held up off the ground. Yet Hunk doesn’t say a word. Not when they pass through the door, not when they stumble through Lance’s kitchen and living room -- only when they finally reach Lance’s bedroom.

Hunk lays him down gently, propping up his head and foot with pillows. “You’re not allowed to move.” His eyes wander over Lance’s mess of bedsheets while his hands pat the pillows he’d just arranged. The gesture seems more comforting than anything else. His eyes don’t leave Lance’s.

“But I should show you around.” Lance frowns, slumping but already resigning himself to his fate. His foot twinges with every attempt he makes to test it. Each time it wears at his resolve, the stubbornness willing him to get up and actually _do_ something, especially considering he’s now at home with the guy he was meant to be on a date with. Some night _this_ has turned out to be.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lance spots Hunk’s shirt and freezes, eyes wide, pretending he didn’t see it. This might just be a living nightmare, specifically the kind where he’s caught with his pants down and has to pray that he’s the only one that’s noticed. “You know what?” Lance chuckles nervously, a smile forming on his face like his body revelled in his guilt. “It’s fine. You go.”

Hunk tilts his head and watches Lance’s face closely. He doesn’t miss the way Lance’s face twitches, eyes darting to the shirt on the bed. His own gaze follows briefly and ends with a short, enlightened nod. “Uh-huh…” Hunk says, full of suspicion.

Lance hunches his shoulders and even shrugs, trying to distract from his shame hiding not so far behind him. Perhaps if he pretends it’s not there, Hunk won’t see it, he won’t say anything, and he’ll just leave Lance here on his own to hide it away. Though Hunk leaving isn’t something he wants either.

Just as he thinks Hunk has missed it, the man’s hand reaches over. The grin on his face makes Lance want to shove a pillow into his face to hide. “So this is where my shirt’s been?!” he asks triumphantly, holding it up between his thick fingers, letting it hang between them like all the dirty laundry that it is.

“It’s not what you think. I didn’t --” Lance clamps down on his tongue. He’s just making it worse. What exactly does he think he’s going to say anyway? He didn’t sleep with it? He didn’t hold it in his arms at night? He didn’t wear it when he felt lonely? He didn’t clamp his teeth down on it when he came? Anything he could say would incriminate him.

Hunk smirks and clicks his tongue. He takes one more look at his shirt before eyeing Lance up. “And what am I thinking?” The smug look on his face sends a flush of heat up to Lance’s own. He’s enjoying this, and admittedly, so is Lance, in his own way.

“Y-you know, using it…” Lance trails off as he swallows the truth he nearly said: ‘as wank material’. The implication is already there. He’s certain it smells terrible now. Yet he can’t remember if he’s managed to keep it entirely clean. Lance bites his bottom lip at the thought of what stains Hunk might find.

Just as the thought passes his mind, Hunk begins to inspect the shirt, making a show of it. Lance’s face starts burning again. “When was the last time you washed it?” He brings it close to his face, both hands resting under the fabric, and Lance freezes at the thought he might actually do a sniff check.

Hunk laughs, nods to himself, and throws the shirt to Lance’s lap. “It’ll keep you company while I’m making dinner. Anything you can’t eat?” He clears his throat when Lance doesn’t answer straight away. He unbuttons his jacket and shrugs it off his shoulders, tossing it onto the end of the bed.

Lance shakes his head, still dumbfounded by how quickly Hunk can make him blush and then turn his attention on something else entirely. “Nah. There’s not much to work with though.” Frowning, he can only imagine what Hunk will say once he finds the cupboards filled with questionable and probably unusable junk that Lance hasn’t used in ages. He can’t remember the last time he went grocery shopping.

“I’ll be fine. I’m sure there’s something.” Hunk leaves the bedroom smiling and rolling up his sleeves. The guy seems to push on despite anything that faces him and while Lance sits there, ignoring the pain tugging at his leg, he considers himself incredibly lucky to have his company. Even if the circumstances themselves aren’t the most desirable.

Lance can’t help but knead his fingers into the shirt now in his hands. Somehow it’d become a thing of comfort when he felt he needed it. The touch of it alone relaxed his muscles, even if Hunk’s scent is now far gone and simply a memory. It’s still the shirt Lance wore home after their encounter. It’s still the shirt Hunk dressed him in before making sure he got home safe and here Lance is safe again because of him.

Lance waits patiently for Hunk to return, growing more nervous at the fact Hunk is in his home and cooking him dinner in his kitchen. The sounds and smells carry through to the bedroom and leave Lance wondering. Who knows what he thinks of the organisation or what’s in his fridge or what little notes he leaves about protein balls and good places to order an actually somewhat flavourful salad. It’s all nonsense, but Lance can’t help but wonder what that man thinks, of the kitchen, of his home, of him.

For thirty minutes, Lance waits, leaning back against the pillow and clutching Hunk’s shirt to his chest. He can’t believe this is happening. This is a date, isn’t it? The fact Hunk is making him dinner, even if it is with his own food in his own apartment, means it’s a date. It has to be. After all, he did give Hunk tickets to his show and had assumed they’d meet up afterwards.

Hunk finally appears with a grin on his face and two plates in his hands right when Lance leans to smell Hunk’s shirt. “I thought a stir-fry would --” He freezes, grip tightening on the plates as his eyebrows rise.  
  
Lance starts back upright and chucks the shirt across the bed as if it hadn’t just been in his face. “S-sounds great.” He looks as guilty as he sounds. There’s no denying that when he manages to maintain eye contact with Hunk again.

“That explains a lot.” Hunk smirks and leans in to gently place the plate on Lance’s lap. He pauses to glance over at the shirt, strewn across the edge of the bed, before he assesses Lance again. “Is that all you did with my shirt?” He knows. The tone of his voice says it all.

Rather than suffer himself more embarrassment, Lance takes a fork and stuffs his face with food. He barely gives himself a moment to taste what Hunk prepared for him, wanting instead to give himself a reason to not answer that question while his mind struggles for an answer. He begins chewing, tasting the marvellous concoction Hunk seems to have created by sheer magic, and stares at his plate.  
  
Hunk hums to himself, climbing over the bed, plate balanced in his hand, to plop himself down right next to Lance. Once settled, he takes a bite and grins. Whether he’s more pleased with his creation or his teasing, Lance can’t tell, but his smile makes him want to melt all the same.   
  
Lance swallows his mouthful and takes a few more bites before he answers sharply, “What do you think?” He stares, unable to look away this time, needing to know what Hunk really thinks of him. Maybe he thinks it’s weird that Lance kept an item of his clothing in his bed with him. Not that he knows that for sure, but it’s not exactly hard to work that out from the overwhelming evidence and Lance’s own inability to hide his humiliation.

“I think you’re as guilty as I am,” Hunk laughs, pushing his food across his plate with his fork. He settles at the bedframe, somehow able to be so casual and comfortable in Lance’s room, like he had already been there, like he belongs there. Perhaps Hunk feels that too.

Lance takes to eating faster, working through the meal Hunk had made him as if desperate for food. He can’t remember the last time he ate, nor the last time he had a homecooked meal. “That so?” he says through a mouthful, playing it off as casually as he can, which isn’t very much at all.

Hunk takes his own turn to eat through a portion of his plate, clearly taking his sweet time. There’s a hint of a shake in his fingers. He glances over Lance and then looks down to the sheets. “I like your thong.” The amusement in his voice has turned more to admission.  
  
Lance chokes on the next mouthful, almost sputtering everything over himself as he leans forward. His foot twitches angrily at the sudden movement. His throat aches and screams at him until Hunk’s large hand hits him hard on the back twice. His touch lingers for a moment, soothing over Lance’s muscles before retreating back to Hunk’s side.   
  
Lance clears his throat and glares at Hunk, unable to hide his smile. “You can’t just _say_ that.” He gathers himself together and wolfs down the last few bites. He can feel himself wanting to ask something stupid, something cheeky, something he desperately wants to know about and might just be delirious enough from the pain and the meal and Hunk’s presence to ask. “But you do like it?”   
  
Hunk’s fork scrapes against the plate. The sharp screech is enough to know that Lance got him back, yet that triumphant feeling fades as Hunk leans over Lance to place his empty plate on the bedside table. He’s so close, blushing even while his eyes linger on him. “Yeah…”

Lance can’t look away as he places his own plate on top of the other. He’s impressed when it manages to settle in place without toppling over the edge. He’d barely been able to look anywhere else but Hunk’s eyes. “It’s filthy, isn’t it?”

“Like you,” Hunk admits, licking his lips and leaning in. He hovers close enough that it feels as if they’re already touching. The warmth in Lance’s face alone feels like they’re already touching.  
  
Lance draws in a shaky breath and pouts. If he were any braver, he might have closed the gap between them. If it weren’t for his foot, he might have jumped Hunk right there just to be in his arms. Instead he swallows the dryness in his throat and tries his best to tease. “They were perfectly clean when I left them. What’ve you done with them?”   
  
Hunk answers with a kiss, lips warm and soft and pressing so hesitantly that Lance’s chest aches for more. One of Hunk’s hands finds Lance’s shoulder and holds him firmly, squeezing for a moment before sliding up his neck and sending a shiver down Lance’s spine.

Lance hums back, returning the kiss briefly before pulling away, breathless. “You didn’t…” he begins and finds Hunk’s lips against his again. He can feel the smile even as he tries to speak again. “Answer… _Ah--_ ” He gasps as Hunk keeps persisting. “-- Me…” The chuckle that falls from his lips between kisses is so breathy it sounds more like a sigh.

Hunk leans further over him, shuffling closer to kiss Lance into silence. He doesn’t even mind it, savouring every moment, his eyelids fluttering shut as he feels Hunk again. His hands search up Hunk’s body, feeling that softness give beneath his fingers, finding handholds anywhere he squeezes. Their lips work together with moans and sighs, forgetting the room around them, until Lance jolts.  
  
“Ow.” A sudden pain shoots up Lance’s leg and he pulls away from Hunk to draw in a sharp breath. The ceiling almost looks blurry for a second. It seems Hunk had bumped his foot somehow.   
  
Hunk pulls back, hands retreating and held up ready to help anywhere they’re needed. His mouth hangs open as he surveys Lance. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” His hands move to gingerly hold Lance’s ankle. He massages gently around it. “This any better?”

Hunk’s hands seem to melt away any tension left in Lance. All it takes is a firm grip to make him happy, or putty to be moved however Hunk pleases, if Lance is honest with himself. “Yeah, much better.” Though he can think of so many _other_ ways Hunk could make him feel better.

“Guess we know what’s out of the question,” Hunk replies with a nervous laugh. His hand soothes over Lance’s thigh before giving it a slight squeeze. He almost sounds disappointed, and sighs out a deep breath after a pensive frown.  
  
Lance balks at the thought he might miss out on something. “What? No…” He speaks before he knows what’s he saying, but if it’s something Hunk’s been planning, he knows he wants it. The realisation only hits him the moment their eyes meet.   
  
“I didn’t say what I was talking about.” Hunk raises a brow. His face reveals nothing, hiding whatever he’s been thinking, to the point Lance wriggles a little in place in frustration. Hunk isn’t about to give anything away.

Lance crosses his arms and huffs to himself. “Didn’t need to. It’s just a foot. It’d be fine.” Lance would be fine with whatever Hunk wanted to do -- do to him, have done to him. He’s already one hundred percent committed regardless of how his foot feels. It’s got to be better than doing it with a shirt on his own.  
  
Hunk huffs a snort of a laugh out his nose. He relaxes back onto the bed, one hand resting on the sheets while the other lingers on Lance’s thigh. “Is that how you managed this in the first place?” he asks teasingly, eyeing Lance’s foot then the bed.   
  
“Okay, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I want it,” Lance whines, pushing himself back against the pillow. The sheer honesty coming out of his mouth makes him want to hide, but another part of him likes being stuck here, likes feeling so exposed in front of Hunk.

“Oh, so you _want_ to get up and dance naked for me? I guess I’ll just stop, then,” Hunk answers flatly, scooching back to stare pointedly at Lance. The hand on his thigh slides down to the sheets and starts to play with the folds in the fabric.

“Come _on_ , you weren’t talking about _that_. You were talking about -- you really want me to dance naked?” Lance frowns. He can’t tell if Hunk is entirely serious, but that can’t have just come out of nowhere. Does that mean Hunk’s imagined that before? Technically Hunk has seen his ass so it’s not exactly a stretch, but… “I thought you meant…”

Lance pauses to assess the way Hunk is staring at him. He’s sure Hunk meant sex or something sex-adjacent at least, not a nude performance. He isn’t exactly against the idea, especially if it’s some kind of foreplay, but his mind is thinking of so many better ways he could move his body.

“Yes?” Hunk encourages and reaches out to rub his hand over one of Lance’s thighs again. He takes turns rubbing up, then down, then switching to the other leg. He squeezes and pushes and teases, all while watching Lance’s face.

Lance takes a slow, shaky breath in. “It could totally work like this.” He’s not exactly wrong, but he’s not exactly right, either. There’s a chance it might make his injury worse if he tries anything too strenuous, but the opportunity presented to him is too good to pass up. It only makes sense that if his foot is fucked, he should be too.

Hunk laughs and shakes his head dismissively. “No, I’m not… crushing you with an injured foot.” He taps Lance’s leg and gives another laugh. Maybe he’s not as into the idea as Lance thought.

“It’d be elevated.” Lance knows he sounds uncertain, a little desperate, and he’s entirely losing the argument, but he has to try. He’s already imagining both of his legs over Hunk’s shoulders while he’s pounded mercilessly into the mattress. There’s no chance of his leg getting hurt if it’s up on those broad shoulders, probably.

“No…” Hunk immediately answers, biting his lip like he’s already regretting the thoughts in his mind. His face says it all. “But there are… options.” Hunk’s hands slide up to the top of Lance’s tights and he tugs them down an inch. “Should take these off.”

Lance responds at first with a roll of his hips. He hasn’t really thought about how worked up he is already, how much he wants to be touched and held and probably just a little bit destroyed by Hunk’s handiwork. “I can’t remove my own clothes. I’m going to need someone to do that for me. Oh dear…” He rolls his hips again like he’s trying to make them come down with the movement alone.

Hunk nods and starts sliding Lance’s tights down, fingers tucked under the hem and shuffling them down. He’s gentle, hesitant, but determined, halting only for moments before he continues ‘helping’. “Gotta have them removed gently… slowly, even… to make sure your foot doesn’t get hurt, hmm?”

“Can’t have that.” Lance bites his lip as he watches his tights slide down his body, over his hips, down his thighs and over his knees. His skin tingles with anticipation. Each inch brings him closer and closer to Hunk’s… _options_. He’s not sure if he enjoys the lingering touch of Hunk’s hands across his skin or if he’s growing impatient.

Hunk’s eyes watch what he’s doing closely and he finally tugs the tights off Lance’s legs with a gentle touch, easing them over Lance’s foot. He manages it all with a tenderness that sets Lance’s heart aflutter and without hurting him once. Hunk certainly knows what he’s doing.

“It feels much better already.” Lance stares down to his dance belt, tight and flush across his hips. He’s not used to feeling himself hard against it. It feels too tight, trying to keep his bulge down like it normally does but struggling to do it now that his heart is beating faster.

Lance expects Hunk to remove his underwear next, but he shuffles back up the bed to tug off Lance’s shirt. His fingers dive under the hem, pulling it up with the same teasing lingering of his touch. The shirt comes off with a stroke across his skin, with a reminder of just how soft and warm Hunk’s hand are.

“Your turn,” Lance insists cheekily, tugging at Hunk’s hem. “I can’t move with this foot, remember, so you’re going to have to do it for me.” He winks, albeit awkwardly, and wiggles his foot just a little. He ignores the twinge of pain in order to keep his smile.

Hunk’s eyes narrow. “You just want another one of my shirts to wank with.” He starts removing his shirt before Lance can say anything back. It’s up and over his broad shoulders, showing off the thick frame of his chest. Hunk leans over and deliberately tucks the shirt under Lance’s pillow. “Just in case you need it.”

Lance’s face burns and he immediately barks, “The rest, too.” He swallows his words immediately. Why did he say that, and so suddenly? He’s entirely impatient and just wants to see what he knows is there, what he _felt_ is there. Lance can only imagine what he’ll see when Hunk reveals it all.

“While you’re still in your underwear?” Hunk complains; his eyes glance down over his belly before he sends an accusing stare at Lance. “It’s hardly fair.” He continues anyway, making a show of removing his dress pants, unbuttoning and unzipping slowly. Moving his hips, he somehow manages to remove them without too much struggle while sending Lance’s heart right up to his throat. Hunk pulls them down and chucks them to the side.

Hunk lays a hand on Lance’s dance belt. He’s curious and not the least bit hesitant, not compared to when he removed Lance’s tights. His fingers run under the band as he inspects it, humming thoughtfully. He pauses when his hand runs across Lance’s bare ass cheek and he presses his lips together in approval. “You _really_ like wearing thongs.”

“It’s a dance belt!” Lance knows he can’t win, but he really does have to wear it for dancing. All it is is a piece of clothing that holds his junk in place when he dances,makes his bulge not as noticeable when he wears tights, and makes the leaps and jumps and general movement so much more comfortable. It just also happens to be the bare minimum in size and look like a thong.

“Uh-huh…” Hunk reaches under and fondles Lance’s ass. His hand feels big, fingers able to reach and grab so much skin that Lance can’t help but imagine his ass would fit nicely in both of Hunk’s hands. What he could do with those hands…  
  
“It’s for support…” Lance’s chest starts heaving. He doesn’t remember when his breathing became this heavy, but the feeling is finally catching up to him. “Can’t show panty lines in tights, either, so…” He’s enjoying this more than he should. His mind is already picturing the kind of options he’d take if his foot allowed.

Hunk’s barely listening. Instead he’s tugging Lance’s dance belt down bit by bit. If he’s not going to listen, that’s not exactly a worse alternative. Lance tries his best to keep still, wanting to press up against those big hands, and as his breath hitches, he blurts, “You have to earn it.”  
  
“Oh, really? Earn it how?” Hunk slides down the sheets and hovers over Lance’s thighs. His fingers resume pulling down Lance’s underwear. His eyes stare with a burning intent as he settles into position. He has something in mind and whatever it is, Lance decides he’s entirely on board.   
  
With an impatient roll of his hips, Lance frees his cock from his dance belt. It falls to his stomach, half hard and aching and waiting for attention. He licks his lips as Hunk slides his underwear down his legs and thanks whatever stupid luck he has that led him to this moment.   
  
Lance feels exposed on the bed. It’s not the first time Hunk’s seen him naked, but this is the first time the man’s been eyeing him up like he’s a prize. This time he’s laid out on a bed with his hard dick within view and he’s ready to be touched up and eaten up however Hunk sees fit. He’s not even sure if he’s breathing right, with how giddy he feels.

Hunk’s too nice and outwardly confident. Even as he crawls and crouches to hover over Lance’s legs, his nervousness only seems to make him more attractive. Lips hovering by the crown of Lance’s cock, Hunk peers up with a smirk. “So I get to keep this if I earn it?” He holds up the dance belt and lays it gently to the side.  
  
Lance gulps and laughs, rolling his hips up to close the gap between his dick and Hunk’s mouth. It’s not close enough. “Oh, I don’t know.” Lance shrugs and tries to roll his hips again. So close and yet so far, and yet he’s not brave enough to really push up and make that leap.

Hunk does the work for him when he leans to run his tongue up the underside of Lance’s dick, drawing out a gasp and a whine. “Don’t you?” Hunk asks, licking once more. The warmth of his tongue melts what little resolve is left in Lance’s body and he melts back against his pillow.

Fuck, _fuck_ . Hunk’s already making Lance shiver, forcing him to wait for more. Lance can’t even _move_ like this, held down by Hunk’s weight and handicapped by his foot. The sheer anticipation crackles through his skin like oil simmering in a pan, bubbling and rushing and yet waiting for what’s coming next.

Lance leans to peer at his foot poking out, pushed safely out to the side. As long as he doesn’t move that, he should be able to enjoy this, every little moment that-- “ _Hhhahhh_!” Hunk draws Lance’s attention back with barest touch of his lips against the tip of his cock. It’s so much and yet not enough.

“Do you know now?” Hunk kisses up his length, never looking away as Lance melts even further back into the bed. “Or do I need to draw it out of you?” Hunk can do whatever he pleases as far as Lance is concerned. If this is drawing out, Lance wants it, _needs_ it, has to find out _exactly_ what it is that he means by those words.

“Who’d h-have thought you were s-such a perv?” Lance teases with a smile, growing breathless, back arching and body wanting both to move and never move again. He’s going to be a mess if he isn’t one already. He needs to say something, anything to gain back some kind of dignity. “I bet you came h-harder with my thong, yeah?”  
  
His words backfire (or, alternatively, succeed) when Hunk’s hand wraps around the head of Lance’s cock. He honestly can’t tell whether he’s won or not as Hunk answers him by working his mouth over the tip. Lance watches with half-lidded eyes and decides that both is good. Both is very good.

When Hunk’s hand begins to move up and down, Lance moans and bucks up into the wet heat of Hunk’s mouth. “F-fuh- _fuck_ Hunk… oh _shit_ .” The room is a figment of his imagination now as that touch, that movement, and Hunk alone are the only things filling his mind. Lance rolls his eyes, shudders, and starts rambling, “Fuck, Hunk, if this is wh-what you’ll d-do f- _fuh_ -for my pants, what will you do t-to get _in_ them?”   
  
Hunk hollows his cheeks then and starts to bob his head, working over Lance as his grip tightens. He hums and smiles even with his mouth full. He’s determined to break Lance, that much is clear, and perhaps if Lance indulges the thought, this is exactly what Hunk’s been thinking of doing all night.

Lance bucks as much as Hunk allows him, breathing heavily between sighs and moans, completely turned on by the fact that he’s trapped there. Hunk feels warm and heavy and safe, covering him as protectively as much as he is holding him down. There’s a soft comfort in Hunk’s body -- the give, the resistance, everything that seems to make Hunk _him_.

Hunk doesn’t even say anything. He simply looks up at Lance in between closing his eyes and moving his tongue over and around Lance’s dick. He seems content to do his best to break Lance without a single word, and Lance isn’t sure if he’s grateful or frustrated by that fact. He’s sure if Hunk said anything more, he might just come right there and then.

“So good. _Sh-shit_ . But, uh, you-- _hahhh--_ haven’t _earned_ it yet.” Lance struggles to concentrate on forming words, but he manages anyway. “Show me you want it.” Lance knows it doesn’t sound commanding, but it’s an attempt. Trying to be cheeky is becoming so much harder while his hard cock continues fucking up into Hunk’s mouth. He’s not even sure he can keep moving his hips at this rate, body giving up and giving in to every move Hunk makes. “I’m gonna --”

Hunk pulls back immediately and relaxes his grip on Lance’s dick. “How should I show you?” He eagerly waits for Lance’s next direction with a line of spit hanging between his chin and the tip of Lance’s cock. He tilts his head, lips parted and eyes challenging. He knows exactly what he’s doing.   
  
Lance whines at the lack of sensation. “I can’t tell you how to do everything.” He tries to buck again, but Hunk stops him with a light squeeze of his dick. Lance halts all movement while he huffs and catches his breath. His mind calls back to last time his dick was in his own hand, where he imagined all sorts of things, and here they are with Hunk staring up at him.  
  
“I think I know what you want… Lance,” Hunk says his name with emphasis, starting to pump his dick as he leans in and takes the head of Lance’s cock into his mouth. He hums a moan, hollowing his cheek and sucking just enough to bring Lance back up to the edge again.  
  
“Yeah, _yeah_ , do that… thing. That’s… _good…_ _fuck_ , finish what you started,” Lance rambles and fails to add any kind of bite to his words. He could keep on going and rattle off appreciations and praises and directions but his mind is all but mush at this point, made only worse by the looks Hunk keeps sending his way.  
  
Lance is so close, so ready to come, and there’s Hunk leaning in and working over him. His big hand feels so good and Lance struggles to watch, eyes closing and blinking open again and again. He groans when Hunk sucks and pulls back to run his tongue over his slit, kissing around the crown. Lance feels his whole body tensing. So ready, so ready.  
  
Smirking and tongue partly out, Hunk answers, “I’ve got you.” The words and the look in his eyes set Lance over the edge and he comes hard. Shuddering, Lance forces his eyes open to watch as Hunk catches all of Lance’s cum on his tongue. They don’t break eye contact for even a second.

Hunk laps it all up and swallows it down with a lick of his lips. “Do you think I’ve done enough to earn it?” He raises an eyebrow and clicks his tongue. The smile that forms on his face is both cheeky and just a touch shy. How he manages to achieve _both,_ Lance will never know, but he appreciates it anyway.

Lance closes his eyes and catches his breath. _Fuck_ , what even was that? He has to know. Those few words out of Hunk’s mouth hit something, a soft spot that felt so good, somewhere deep down, that all he could do was let go. “‘You’ve got me’, huh?” It’s all he can manage to say.   
  
When Lance opens his eyes, he finds Hunk’s warm gaze meeting his, just watching quietly. Lance pushes himself up to close the distance. Hunk leans down to rest his forehead against Lance’s, closing his eyes and smiling. “Yeah, of course.” Hunk, Lance realises, is breathing heavily now, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot more comfort than hurt this time ;) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> If you'd like to read more, feel free to subscribe as I have another 5 chapters already outlined and partly written. I am rather slow at it but I'm getting there!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter [@particlebarrier](http://twitter.com/particlebarrier).


	8. Big Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The warmth of Hunk’s forehead against his made Lance’s heart beat just that little bit faster, like applause to celebrate his own predicament. He was beaming, inside and out, and sure that the smile on his face was going nowhere anytime soon. He could bask in this moment until the comfort of sleep took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got this one done a little bit quicker this time! I love these two. Hoping I'll get the next chapter done even quicker :D
> 
> Check out this [lovely art by Ophi](https://twitter.com/z3___r0/status/923724295519571968) of the last scene in this chapter.  
> Be sure to read it all first!

The warmth of Hunk’s forehead against his made Lance’s heart beat just that little bit faster, like applause to celebrate his own predicament. He was beaming, inside and out, and sure that the smile on his face was going nowhere anytime soon. He could bask in this moment until the comfort of sleep took him.

With a tender laugh, Lance closes his eyes for a long moment. “You’ve definitely got a thing about getting me off.” Lance nudges against Hunk, wanting to kiss him again. “You’re making me look bad.” He opens his eyes to stare at Hunk’s lips and then up at his eyes with a hint of challenge.

Hunk giggles. Actually fucking giggles. Lance's body weakens at just the sound of it. His breath feels like it’ll leave him at any moment and yet he manages his own dry laugh. "Dude, it's not funny. Your balls are probably blue." It’s hard for Lance to not consider himself a complete ass for being on the receiving end essentially this entire time they’ve been… doing whatever it is they’re doing.

Hunk opens his eyes and leans back to give Lance a look somewhere between disbelief and amusement, probably wondering why he even finds Lance attractive. Yet despite that look, it’s too soft to be anything but sweet like he always is. He could tease Lance for hours and they both seem to know that they’re entirely into that.   


Lance takes advantage of his pause to sneak in a quick kiss, pushing himself up to press his lips against Hunk's before falling back down to the bed. It’s a small triumph, but he grins like he’s won so much more than the ability to move. There’s no telling how long he’ll need to be off his feet, so every tiny win feels like a triumph right now.

Hunk pulls a face and narrows his eyes. “What are you going to do about it?” He moves to straddle Lance’s thighs, dick tenting in his underwear. Hunk looks over Lance below him, turning his head to peer over at Lance’s foot resting on the bed behind him. “You can’t move much with that injury.”

Lance is determined to do something. He can’t  _ not _ reciprocate somehow. He can’t move a whole lot, but there’s surely something he can do. When an idea pops into his mind, Lance pats and rubs his chest, inviting Hunk to move closer. He doesn’t mind the idea of not moving at all. “Come sit on my chest,” Lance suggests with a wink. “I can’t move… but you can.”

Hunk opens his mouth to argue but quickly closes it again. Sighing, Hunk moves forward, shuffling closer and closer. Lance watches and wiggles back into his pillow as Hunk hovers above his chest. “I’m not… I’m not going to sit on you, you know that, right,” Hunk asks quickly, nervously, with just a hint of his own curious excitement.

“Have it your way.” Lance shrugs and pushes himself up to prop himself against the pillows. He can’t move far, but it’s enough to make himself comfortable at least. Once he rests, he can’t help but raise an eyebrow when he adds, “But you know you at least want your cock in my mouth.”

Hunk’s hips jerk as the words tumble from Lance’s mouth. The bulge in his underwear twitches and his hands settle on Lance’s shoulders. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” Despite his concern, Hunk’s voice sounds strained, thick with arousal. His eyes fall to Lance’s lips and it’s clear he’s already on Lance’s wavelength.

Lance reaches out and grabs onto Hunk’s ass, fingers digging in, grabbing as much as his hands can hold. He pulls Hunk closer to his face and closes his eyes. His lips brush against Hunk’s underwear and he flicks his tongue over the fabric. He runs it over the bulge once and twice and again until the fabric’s wet through.

Hunk groans, and for a second his grip falters and he falls forward. His bulge presses against Lance’s face, warm and hard. He gasps in surprise and stutters at Lance’s lack of concern, watching as he chuckles into the fabric with sly glances up at Hunk’s face.

“Pu’ ‘m dow’m,” Lance instructs into the dick pressed against his lips, a layer of damp fabric the only barrier between them. He doesn’t stop, mouthing and pressing and humming like he’s working his mouth over a sweet treat.

Hunk’s hands clasp Lance’s shoulders tighter as he struggles to maintain his balance and his composure. His chest is heaving. His breath is shaky. He stares down with both admiration and bewilderment in his eyes. “L-Lance. I don’t understand what --”

With a gasp, Lance pulls away and smirks up at Hunk’s eyes. He likes giving something back, making the man that could crush him weak. Lance pats on Hunk’s ass like he’s giving a drum roll. “Pull them down.” He glares pointedly at Hunk’s underwear, eyeing it like it’s offending him. “Now.”

Hunk knocks Lance’s hands off his ass before he frees his dick with one hand and pulls down his underwear with the other. He leaves them around his thighs, draped over his knees, too stubborn to move from his position and undress himself properly. “There. Happy?” Hunk gives a little shrug.

Lance raises an eyebrow at the sight before him. Faced with all of Hunk’s length right before his face, he can feel something stirring in his chest and much further down. He dives his hands forward to grab for Hunk’s hips, tugging him closer to his open mouth. Lance can’t help but let his eyelids become heavy, and his lips twitch into a faint smile.

“Lance…” Hunk starts with a hint of concern in his voice, but it quickly melts into a moan as Lance’s lips work over the tip of his cock. He gasps and digs his fingers into Lance’s shoulders, eyes opening wide only to flutter closed at the touch of Lance’s tongue.

Pressed against his pillows, Lance’s movements are limited, but he makes good use of his mouth, tonguing and sucking at all he can reach. Hunk’s girth makes his task difficult, but Lance knows he doesn’t lack in enthusiasm. He slackens his jaw, swallowing and working Hunk’s length in further. The more Lance works, spit starting to dribble down his chin, the more frustrated he becomes at Hunk’s lack of movement. “Mmm’mmff.”

Hunk shudders at the sound, bucking into Lance’s mouth as it strikes a chord within him, as if he can understand Lance’s complaint despite its incoherence. He’s almost too busy watching to actually listen. He simply reacts, giving into the impulse that keeps his hips moving and thrusting and rolling.

Lance’s eyes open wide and he nods, as much as he can, in short bursts. He wants more of that, needs more. He grabs Hunk’s thighs again, full handfuls, squeezing for as much as he can fit into his hands. Yet he can’t ever grab enough. His fingers keep trying over and over and over against him, grasping and grabbing and digging his fingers into soft skin that dimples at his touch.

“You okay?” Hunk asks, pausing in place. He almost has his entire body pressed up against Lance’s face, pushing him against the pillow behind his head, but it’s not what Lance wants, yet. He wants so much more, wants to  _ give _ so much more.

Lance rolls his eyes to the back of his head, part in frustration, part in anticipation, and pushes Hunk’s thighs away then pulls them back. Lance tries his best to accommodate Hunk, wanting desperately to take all of him in one go, but he struggles. He groans in frustration. Spit dribbles down his chin.

Hunk moans and shivers, shoulders hunching forwards and hands resting on Lance’s shoulders for support. “You want that, huh?” For a second, he huffs a nervous laugh, almost in disbelief. Then he huffs again, more assured, more confident. “Okay then.” Resolve sits so well on him.

Lance moans happily when Hunk grabs him by the face, stroking a thumb gently across his cheek. The grip is firm, keeping him in place, but it is not without a gentleness, a care behind the strength. His anticipation comes through in his touch.

Hunk starts slowly at first, thrusting in and out of Lance’s mouth hesitantly. “Th-this oh-okay?” He moans low and tugs at Lance’s face. His fingers brush Lance’s hair from his face and keep on stroking. Every touch of his fingers means to soothe. It can be felt with every delicate brush across his skin.

Lance can feel Hunk’s thighs squeeze at his sides, how nervous he is, how much he’s holding back. “Mmm,” Lance answers despite his mouthful. He closes his eyes but keeps bobbing his head, sucking and swallowing, wanting so desperately to give back everything Hunk has given to him so far.

Something about Lance’s face or the look in his eyes as he gazes up at Hunk towering over him makes Hunk thrust harder and faster. The thrusts are shallow, but Hunk doesn’t seem to care. Lance struggles to keep his mouth open, too enamoured by the way he’s being used.

Hunk’s grip tightens. His groans become breathier. He watches Lance below him with a gleam in his eyes and a smile on his parted lips. Lance swallows to allow Hunk more room and grips tighter onto Hunk’s thigh, encouraging him, wanting Hunk to completely wreck his throat.

It’s three more hard thrusts into Lance’s mouth before Hunk falls forward, catching himself on Lance’s shoulders, and comes hard. Hunk shakes while Lance sputters and gasps along his length, managing to swallow it all despite his struggle. It takes several short breaths and the mustering of his strength before Hunk pulls out completely with a breathy sigh and a caress of Lance’s cheek.

“Lance,” Hunk manages between heavy breaths, checking around himself, like he’s worried he’s broken something or squashed some part of Lance. “That was… fuck.” He falls back to squat over Lance’s chest before heaving himself sideways. He flops onto the bed, exhausted, sighing happily through breathless chuckles. “That shouldn’t be that hot.”

Lance throws his head back against the pillow, opening his mouth to test out his jaw. Nothing seems to be aching and Hunk didn’t squish him, regrettably. His breathing has no problems, but his throat is a different matter. “But it is,” he croaks.

“No arguing here.” Hunk moves closer to Lance’s side, throwing an arm over Lance’s waist. He takes a deep breath by Lance’s neck, almost as if he’s breathing him in and savouring that intimate moment. “How’s your throat?”

“Fine.” The sound comes out of his mouth and makes a liar of him. Lance sounds horrible. Yet he’s not about to regret any of what just happened, because it was all entirely worth it. He’ll sleep it off, probably.

Hunk laughs and rests his forehead against Lance’s shoulder. His heavy breathing feels warm on Lance’s skin. “Not sure I can go home now.” He sounds so pensive, almost wistful. There’s something more he wants to say.

“Can’t get enough of me, huh? Got to stick around for more Lance. I’m an important part of a balanced diet, you know.” Lance nudges at Hunk and waggles his eyebrows out of habit, even though Hunk can’t entirely see how smoothly he pulls it off. He’ll just have to see it in its true glory another day, when Lance can be bothered to move.

“Sorry. Full.” Hunk pokes Lance in the ribs with a finger and laughs. “Can’t move. Digesting.” He presses himself as close as possible. Lance can feel his legs, his arms, the curve of his stomach. “You led me down this path.”

Lance lies there on his back and stares at the ceiling with a mock frown. “You’re just going to sleep there?” He tries to play it off as a joke, a tease, but really he desperately doesn’t want him to leave. 

Hunk answers with a hum against his skin. “You’ve got an injury, and now your throat is… well…” Hunk takes a breath and holds Lance tight. He mutters, with a hint of admission,, “Fucked…” He clears his throat and adds with a nonchalant shrug, “I can’t leave you on your own.”

“Aw, are you trying to be sweet?” Lance smirks and turns his head to lean against Hunk’s. He can’t remember being so close and so still and so blissfully tired. He feels warm and fuzzy, not wanting that feeling to stop, and the longer Hunk stays, the longer it persists.

Hunk sighs, lifting his head, drawing Lance’s attention immediately. “Not intentionally. I can’t trust you to not fuck up again somehow.” He walks his fingers over Lance’s chest, dancing over his bare skin before rubbing his hand up and down. Despite the heat in Lance’s body, Hunk’s hands still feel warmer.

“Oh, thanks.” Lance rolls his eyes, forcing a pout in order to not laugh. He watches Hunk’s hand, taking deep breaths in time with its movement. “Next time I  _ fuck _ up it won’t be in your ass.” He shoots a glance to his side, trying to measure Hunk’s reaction.

Hunk nudges him and pats his chest. “No?” He pouts thoughtfully and sighs. He would have sounded disappointed if not for the hint of laughter in his tone. “Shame,” he adds bluntly, a quick retort that gives away nothing else.

Lance gulps and clears his throat. That reaction can’t be too good. He might not actually be interested. He might even think Lance is being serious about the whole thing. He only meant to make a joke. “I… uh… that’s not… shit.” He didn’t mean that, not really. He hopes he hasn’t actually fucked up now.

Hunk grabs him by the chin and moves up to leave a kiss on his lips. They part with a sigh and Hunk whispers, “I was just messing with you.” Hunk smiles and looks down, bashful, avoiding Lance’s confused gaze. “If you wanted to, I don’t think I’d be strong enough to deny you.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance pipes up, feeling somewhat more victorious. A surge of warm fuzziness courses through him and leaves his body tingling. Yet his nerves dissolve it as quickly as it appears. “I’m that good?” He can’t help himself.

“That’s yet to be seen,” Hunk teases back, voice low and purring. Lance might have shuddered if he wasn’t so focussed on not making a fool of himself. Hunk doesn’t seem to share his concerns. “I think we ought to rest for tonight.” He gets up and slides off the bed, letting his underwear finally slide down to his ankles.

Lance watches as Hunk dresses, collects the dishes, and tells him he’ll be back soon to help. After the sounds of a running sink and the clinking of dishes, he’s back in no time at all, humming happily. He then helps Lance off the bed like he weighs nothing, leads Lance to his clothes with a few directions, and dresses him with a gentle, attentive touch.

“You’re really staying?” Lance hears his own doubt. This isn’t how he’d expected thing night to go, especially after he’d already got himself injured, lost his dance debut with his new company, and cried enough to leave him feeling drained. He clears his throat to joke, trying not to choke up again. “I don’t normally sleep with someone on the first date.”

Hunk scoffs at him, tugging at his shirt hem and staring at Lance with an amused expression. “Oh, but you make exceptions, huh?” He folds the collar of Lance’s pyjama collar down and smoothes the fabric. He fusses for a moment while he avoids eye contact.

“I like to keep an open mind.” Lance smiles as Hunk lifts him back onto the bed. The ease with which he not only lifts and lays him down, but how he keeps Lance’s foot elevated and pain free at all times, sends a pleasant rush of gratitude through his chest. He’s so exceptionally lucky to have someone genuinely want to care for him this much.

Hunk crawls onto the bed and then over him, hovering briefly above Lance to look him straight in the eye. “And you’d call this… a date?” The look on his face makes Lance gulp, but before he can answer, Hunk reaches over to turn off the lamp illuminating the room. He retreats and flops down to the bed. Lance is still incapable of saying anything.“We went to a show, came back to your place, ate dinner, and then some,” Hunk lists off, snuggling up close to Lance and pulling him closer. “I’d call that a date,” Hunk whispers against Lance’s ear then nuzzles against his neck. “What about you?” His voice quivers with hope.

Lance wiggles back against Hunk, pushing his back against Hunk’s chest, grabbing Hunk’s arm to wrap it around him. He feels so safe like this. His foot might even hurt just a little bit less. “I think it is, yeah.”

Hunk curls his arm around Lance a little tighter, gulping before he asks, “Does that mean we’re…” In the darkness, the silence he finishes with seems to last forever. Hunk’s breathing sounds so loud with nothing else to compete with it.

“Dating?” Lance asks almost breathlessly, listening to his own breathing. It feels so much more intimate in the darkness. How is Lance supposed to sleep like this? When he wants to stay awake and feel it all?

Lance can hear Hunk lick his lips. He swears he can hear Hunk’s heartbeat in the silence before he asks nervously, “If you want to date me?” The shuffling of sheets that follows is both jarring and comforting, but no sound in this room could compete with that question.

“Are you serious? Of course…?” Lance practically snorts, but there’s no air in his lungs to make a noise.The confusion in his tone is hard to miss. He doesn’t quite get how that’s a question at all, considering what they’ve been through, but then again, Lance can’t blame him for Hunk wanting to be sure.

Hunk makes an uncertain sound. “You’re…” Hunk breathes heavily into Lance’s ear and holds him tighter, squeezing around his middle. “So…” Hunk laughs, “... hot, though.” His laughter turns into strained breathing and Lance would given anything to turn around to look him in the eye, but his grip is too firm and Lance can’t bear to move from such a comfortable position.

“And?” Lance frowns at the sound of Hunk’s doubt, barely hidden by his laughter. He’s trying so hard not to sound insecure, to not sound so worried, but it comes through anyway. Lance knows he needs to set things straight. “I think you’re hot.”

“You could have anyone,” Hunk mutters and buries his face in Lance’s neck. He continues mumbling a series of other things, but none of them are loud enough for Lance to hear. Whatever it is, Hunk has nothing to be concerned about.

Lance pulls Hunk’s hand up to his face and kisses every one of Hunk’s thick, soft fingers. “But… I… have… you… and your big hands.” He makes a show of holding them up before his face, even if he can barely make out any detail in the dark.

Hunk takes Lance’s hand in his, squeezing it tight. “Guess you do.” His tone is thoughtful, like he was hiding behind three short words. He laughs to himself and hums. “But what do I have of yours?”

“My dick,” Lance quips back. It’s a silly answer, but it’s not like it’s wrong, not exactly. Hunk could have any part of him, if only he asked for it. The very idea of being asked has his heart racing.

Hunk huffs in his ear. “Well, obviously. You can’t help yourself with that thing.” The brutal honesty jabs at a soft spot in Lance’s chest, yet he can’t say he hates it, either. “You dropped your pants within five minutes of meeting me.” He throws an accusative glance Lance’s way.

“You had my dick hard in another five,” Lance admits and buries his face against the pillow. He shouldn’t feel so embarrassed about that, but still… it was just a run-of-the-mill massage back then. “I can’t say it’s all my fault. Look at you.”

Hunk laughs, throwing his head back before burying his nose in Lance’s hair. His smile is so big Lance can practically hear it. “You make me weak…” he whispers into Lance’s ear, breath tickling skin.

“I can say the same.” Lance’s face burns. His body feels like it’s on fire, like he could leap into dance right now, but the sense of serenity within him has him wanting to sleep and never move again. Lying with Hunk behind him makes him the safest he’s felt in so long.

“We should sleep,” Hunk warns, stroking over Lance’s chest. There’s no telling how he feels without seeing his face, yet Hunk has never truly shied away from sharing what he thinks or what he feels. As far as Lance knows, anyway, and Hunk is so incredibly deserving of his trust.

“Only if we’re dating.” Lance feels so nervous. “And I’m your boyfriend now.” His smile grows bigger than he thought it could be after the night he had. Lance wants to hide away, but with Hunk’s grip he can’t move. The dark and not seeing Hunk’s face, would have to be good enough -- and then he feels Hunk gulp.

“Yes… I  _ told _ you I can’t deny you.” Hunk leaves a kiss on Lance’s neck. Even in the darkness, Lance can hear his smile, feel it on his skin. While only his arm might wrap around Lance’s middle, it almost feels like he entirely envelops Lance, with safety, with reassurance, with a touch of something else still growing.

“Good.” Lance wriggles in his confines, breathing Hunk’s scent from the source. “Lucky me gets to fall asleep in my boyfriend’s arms.” Hunk, he realises, smells so much better in person and when he hears him hum to agree with him, Lance feels at peace and quickly falls into a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. They keep me motivated and excited to write the next chapter so please keep them coming!!
> 
> What is this fic if not smut and fluff all rolled up into one? I can't help myself :D How did you guys react to this one? What's your favourite part?
> 
> AND if you've ever been curious about some of the backstory and Hunk's POV, I've popped up a little fic called [The Marvel and The Delight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12625335) for some of the extra stories I might do when the need hits me. Enjoy!
> 
> If you'd like to read more, feel free to subscribe as I have another few chapters already outlined and partly written. I am rather slow at it but I'm getting there! The next chapter is my absolute favourite that I've been dying to write for the last year so stay tuned! 
> 
> You can find me on Twitter [@particlebarrier](http://twitter.com/particlebarrier).


	9. Bed Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly quiet, Lance makes his way to the kitchen, hobbling with stifled winces at the sharp pains that shoot up his leg when he makes a misstep. It's a slow walk, but Lance reaches the kitchen and hops between cupboards to pull out one thing after another, gathering his supplies. Breakfast is his mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas and New Year's has been a busy time for me but I'm back! And I'm already getting on with the next chapter.
> 
> I've still got a few things I need to edit in this but I'm too impatient today :D
> 
> I commissioned Nami to draw [this beautiful piece of art](https://twitter.com/NSamhade/status/828415606122622977) for a scene in this chapter. If you haven't seen it, please go now.

Lance wakes to the sound of Hunk's breathing. It's soft, warm, and so at ease that he has to wonder if he's still sleeping. Hunk's so close to his face, looking peaceful, content. For a moment, all Lance does is watch. The sheer fact he's woken up to this man in his bed, any man in his bed, still doesn't quite seem real.

Lance's own breath catches when Hunk suddenly moves and rolls over with a soft, pleased hum. He nestles into the pillows, curling up in the blankets as he pulls them away. It's all Lance needs to get himself up today, like a gentle push to make things so much sweeter than they already are, even if his body and his mind both wish to stay put.

He struggles off the bed at first, tossing the linens aside and awkwardly standing without putting weight on his bad foot. He succeeds, just. Determination is all he needs this morning, he decides, despite the twinge of his muscles fighting against him. He can do this so long as he tries, and he knows for certain that he's pretty good at trying.

Mostly quiet, Lance makes his way to the kitchen, hobbling with stifled winces at the sharp pains that shoot up his leg when he makes a misstep. It's a slow walk, but Lance reaches the kitchen and hops between cupboards to pull out one thing after another, gathering his supplies. Breakfast is his mission.

While he's only barely awake, and his foot aches, and his vision is blurry, Lance is determined to have pancakes on a plate before Hunk wakes up. There's only so many ways he can express his gratitude. It seems almost ridiculous to go to all this effort yet after last night, Lance feels he owes this much at least.

Struggling to find the flour, the milk, and whatever else he thinks he needs, Lance hums to the kitchen utensils to calm his nerves. It's a battle just to mix the ingredients in the bowl without spilling them. Somehow flour gets in his hair and milk spills over the counter. He might as well have been juggling them with the remarkable ways the ingredients seem to jump across the kitchen counter.

Lance mops up the milk with a spare paper towel, standing on one foot while he heats up the pan. His juggling continues with the introduction of butter to the pan, sizzling as it melts and dances across the surface. The smell of morning mingles with the scent of Hunk on his skin. He can hardly believe he's making breakfast like this.

The first few pancakes he tries burn on the bottom when his mind wanders. The pan's too hot and he leaves them too long. The next few to follow are uneven, imperfect, not right. The possibilities of what next and the desire to leave for the bedroom fight with the growling ever present in his stomach. Cooking is more a struggle than a delight, especially with weight on one foot.

Lance hisses through his teeth when his finger brushes by the end of the hot pan. "Fuck!" He shoves it in his mouth to deal with the burn. Mumbled curses follow as he nudges the handle of the hot pan with an elbow while he holds a spatula in his other hand. He's not the most coordinated of chefs by any means, but he's got this.

Lance pushes through. He can't stop now, even if the counter is covered in paper towels, or his arm is sticky, or his finger is burnt. At the very least, he prays the kitchen still smells just as good after his mishaps. He hopes harder that the apartment smoke alarm doesn't cry out this early and wake the rest of his neighbours. It wouldn't be the first time.

As he flips and pours the last few of the pancakes, he sighs with relief that they look better. They're pleasantly golden and round and soft. With a triumphant smile, Lance grabs a plate. He only has to get them off the pan and safely on a plate and then he's all good. So long as he doesn't drop them. 

"Sh-shit," he curses through clenched teeth when his finger touches the first. Still far too hot to handle yet. Lance's impatience keeps him going despite another possible burn and he piles the good pancakes on top of each other, for Hunk. Each of them look perfect, pleasant, filled with all the adoration that Lance wants them to have, as silly as that sounds.

The remnants of his attempts go onto the second plate. The misshapen ones, the burnt ones, the ones he ruined in flipping. He'll eat those. He's not particularly fussy or worried about how they taste. It's not the first time after all, but this, making food for the guy lying in his bed, on his pillows, is an entirely different deal. He has to do it right, for him.

Lance looks over the results of his efforts when he's startled by Hunk's concerned but amused tone. "You shouldn't be on that foot." He says nothing else, but huffs a laugh through his nose, amused and disapproving all at once. He sounds raspy and groggy in the morning, voice a tad deeper, just enough to make Lance weak.

Lance looks over his shoulder so quickly he almost trips to the floor, but Hunk steps forward with a laugh and holds him steady. "Lance..." His eyes are almost as soft as his voice, as his hands. All of him is made of a softness that Lance can't quite put his finger on, but wants to so desperately.

"Look, I don't know if you like pancakes, but I figured that breakfast in bed wasn't a half bad idea, yeah?" Lance asks with a nervous laugh, trying to not sound disappointed that his plans aren't going as he hoped. If he had had his way, he would have brought in a tray or something with the food all laid out and maybe, if he found the courage, kissed Hunk awake.

Hunk wipes at his face, staring at Lance with disbelief and half-opened eyes. "Overall, fine. For you, right now, bad idea." He steps closer, ignoring the worried look on Lance's face. He's still just a little bit sleepy, moving slowly, carefully, like he might shock himself entirely awake if he moves any faster.

Lance stiffens when suddenly Hunk's hands are at his waist. His fingers fit there like they've always meant to have been there, seeming to wrap halfway around him. Lance stares down and then up only to realise he's being lifted and suddenly aware that Hunk's only dressed in a towel.

Lance's ass hits the counter top with a soft sound. He realises, to his misfortune, that he's unable to look anywhere but at Hunk's face. The rest of Hunk is shining, water droplets lazily snaking their way down his chest. They tease at Lance's resolve to not drink in the sight before him. He clenches his jaw, puts back his shoulders, and decides he can not stare at Hunk's chest if he tries really hard.

"Is this necessary?" Lance pouts, quickly staring down at his foot with resentment. His eyes dart up again, but the sight of Hunk's towel tucked in so neatly sets his heart racing. All it would take is a little nudge and then Hunk would be standing there naked and wet right in front of him. All while Lance sits pleasantly helpless on the kitchen counter.

Hunk sighs and pushes Lance's legs apart to stand between them. He doesn't even notice the way Lance gulps and freezes at how _forward_ that move is. "Yep," Hunk answers and clicks his tongue. He reaches over for the two plates of pancakes and drags them over. "You need to be off it."

Hunk grabs one of the burnt pancakes to Lance's horror and stuffs it in his face. He smiles as he chews, amused by the reaction he gets. He's just here to tease. Dressed like that he has to be. With that bright smile even as he chews, he has to be. Yet as much as Lance curses it, he can't help but feel the thrumming of excitement running through him.

"You will need some bed rest, and to keep that foot elevated," Hunk informs with his mouth full. He stares Lance down as he finishes chewing. Even as he's serious and so imposing, pushing up between Lance's legs, his eyebrows set to judgement, he's still so goddamn caring.

If he continues like this, Lance isn't going to be able to help himself. Even if his foot is aching and he can't dance, he'll leap forward just to plant his lips on Hunk's and taste him again. For now, he relents to his own teasing. "So, what I'm hearing is... I need to be in bed all day with my legs over my head..." Lance grins from ear to ear and winks. Totally smooth.

Hunk's face changes and his eyes narrow. "That's not happening." He keeps on chewing, pointedly, like each time his teeth meet he's punctuating his point. How he manages to still look attractive like this, Lance doesn't know, but he _likes_ it. Hunk can tell him off as much as he likes and Lance will only ask for more.

"Ever?" Lance bats his eyelashes and clutches his chest over-dramatically. He knows he's not the greatest at acting, but if anything ballet taught him is how to move, how to exaggerate the presentation of emotions for the last rows to see them. With a front row seat, he's sure that he's hard to resist when he pulls the right face.

Hunk rolls his eyes and sighs. There's an unspoken silence that they both know that Lance's got him there. The tension in the room is thicker than the smell of burnt pancakes and considerably sweeter. Hunk breaks the tension with a shake of his head and a laugh. "If you push your luck, it won't." Hunk rubs Lance's thigh. "Rest first."

"And then you'll fuck me through the mattress?" Lance bites his lip and waggles his eyebrows as best as his sleepy body can manage. If he sounds desperate, he doesn't care. He shouldn't care. After last night he's entirely sure that he knows Hunk wants to be here, that he wants him here, and that being fucked through the mattress is a likely possibility if only he asks.

Hunk sighs, grabs hold of Lance's thighs on either side of him, and plants a kiss on Lance's lips. "Let's eat breakfast before I need to go." His words are final. His hands, soft and firm in his grasp, set Lance's teasing and temptation aside. There's no fighting him there.

Hunk takes turns feeding himself and Lance, piece by piece. Lance protests at every second one held to his face, but gives in anyway. Even the burnt pieces taste good when they're in Hunk's fingers, when they touch Lance's lips as gently as Hunk's touch. He sits, frozen to the sheer anticipation of each new bite, wondering how he ever deserved to be hand-fed and cared for so sweetly.

"This is not what I intended," Lance sighs through his smile. His hopes had been for cuddling under the covers while they ate, pressing himself up against Hunk's body, finding their hands wandering as their plates fell off the bed, discarded. "Can you at least help me down?" He pouts and tries his best puppy dog eyes.

"Guess I can do that..." Hunk takes Lance's hands to rest on his shoulders. They encase them, so comfortable and warm against Lance's skin. "I could just carry you to the bed?" He raises his eyebrows at his suggestion. His whole body shrugs, shoulders up, arms closer to his side, his hips moving just a hint. How he manages to be so endearing makes no sense.

Lance shakes his head, smile forming on his face as much as he tries to stop it. "Sofa's fine." Lance leans his weight onto Hunk, sliding himself off the counter as Hunk's hands grab hold of his waist to slow his descent. It's like the slowest, most gentle lift he's ever seen, except _he_ 's the one being gentled placed back down on the ground this time.

Hunk lets Lance walk most of the way, so long as he leans his weight off the bad foot. It's a pleasant compromise that stops the hot flush that's taken over his face. He's not used to this. He's not used to this level of care and concern, especially not from someone he would've thought would never even look his way.  
  
Lance settles on the sofa, preparing for a quiet day. There's not going to be much he can do like this, especially if Hunk is going to insist in this way. The words and urges to fight his better judgement rise up in Lance only to die down at another smile or a caring look. He doesn't even need to say at word to silence Lance's protests.

Hunk props Lance's foot up, makes sure he's settled, and excuses himself to get dressed. His footsteps hit the tiles in such a way to make Lance smile. Like a gentle percussion, he seems to saunter away like the floor might crack or he might wake the neighbours or, simply, he worries he might fall. Yet within moments he's back again, wearing the same clothes from last night.

"I've got to get going. Work and all that." Hunk looks down for a moment. His face pulls an awkward smile, the kind Lance has seen before but never quite realised how much he liked it. The hesitation to leave is written all over Hunk's face. It resounds even louder when he asks, "You going to be okay?"

Lance leans back, splaying out on the sofa. He doesn't want Hunk to go, doesn't want to be alone, or hurt, but after everything he's got to put on a brave face and make it easier for the both of them. "I can manage." Lance wants Hunk to stay, to lose the day with him, but he knows Hunk has things to do. He hides his wants with his act, stretching out every body of his body but his foot.

Lance leans up for a kiss, chest puffed out, and Hunk grants him one. They exchange soft, sweet goodbyes that feel more like whispers and promises, and leave more lingering kisses until Hunk has to tear himself away and see himself out. Lance watches him go with a sense of melancholy, disappointed but pleased all the same.  
  
The door closes with a hollow click and the apartment seems to sing out for him, white noise from the fridge and the TV and a computer in another room are the only sounds bar Lance's breathing. The night hadn't gone exactly to plan. It was better than he could have ever hoped or dreamed, and Lance had dreamed a lot.

Lance passes the week limping around his house as his foot gets better. He tries to not count how many hops and jumps and near stumbles it takes to get to the bathroom, but he can't help it, trying each new time to use less and less. The thought passes his mind that he should, ideally, use some kind of rolling chair, but there's no fun in something so easy.

Daytime television leaves little to keep him entertained, though he finds himself tuning in every day without fail just to make sure it's not getting any better. The couch never seems to mind how long he stays in one place, enveloping him to the point he starts to drift into the fabric itself. His foot sits propped up on the arm and forces him to roll and move awkwardly if he doesn't want it to hurt again, with little success.

The strange doctor Shiro sends tells him it'll be fine, if he rests. He's a man much older than Lance, face framed with bright red facial hair and eyes a piercing blue. He sees right through Lance's dismissals of his injury, but smiles and jokes all the same. He fusses briefly over Lance's posture, his pillow, and wraps a brace around his ankle before excusing himself completely.

Beyond the doctor's visit, Lance spends the following days alone. There's only so many ads and dramatic pauses and family drama he can watch before he grows restless and develops his own form of sofa ballet. The movements he makes are small, but he can still move. Grace isn't as easy on sofa cushions he finds.

He lifts his legs into the air, stretches out his arms, mimics the very essence of ballet poses he knows so well, before scooting his butt across a cushion. He rolls and holds back his shoulders to be elegant and maintain his technique, only to grunt when his face collides with the arm of the sofa. As contorted as it may look, it passes the time between texts and calls with Hunk. It's not enough.

Lance needs more, that same sense of contact. There's only so many times he can yell at the people on TV to get their lives together, or to pick the right answer, or the curse at the ceiling because his sofa-pirouette doesn't have the right turnout. His phone grows bright as every message shows upon his screen and reminds him that Hunk's work draws him away, keeps him busy, time poor. Though the messages keep him smiling, Lance grows desperate for company.

It's in the quiet part of his day, with the TV off, and lying exhausted on the couch from his poorly rehearsed routine when he hears the faintest hum next door. He's not sure what he hears at first because it's not quite clear, but the more he listens, the louder the sound grows. Plucks of a string mix with a sweet voice, chiming together and yet still muffled by the walls. He closes his eyes to listen, breathing in as the tune glides through its melody, until it finally stops and the sound is no more.

Lance's eyes snap open and his head turns towards the sound. There has to be more than just that, surely. He was enjoying it as much as one can enjoy muted music. He presses his ear to the wall that both their apartments share, but no music follows. All it is now is the sound of footsteps and a glass hitting a table. Boring household sounds Lance can make on his own, but music is so far beyond his own ability he hasn't sung in public for years.

Pulling a face, he decides he must do what is clearly his only option: he knocks on the wall. There's no telling how odd it sounds or what his neighbour thinks of him. He knocks again just to be sure. He has to make sure it's clear that he's not just having a good time knocking. Moments pass and the sound of footsteps stop.

Lance breathes in deep and closes his eyes, waiting for an answer, some kind of acknowledgement. It's not exactly clapping though and there's no telling what Kogane thinks of him knocking like that. For all he knows he could just be asking the guy to stop, so he has stopped. Maybe he should say something so Keith knows that he actually liked it, that it gave a nice change from being trapped in his own apartment by his dodgy foot.

Then a knock comes, right by his ear, and Lance jolts. There's an answer, a hesitant knock, but an answer. Now he has to come up with something to say, something complementary and nice about this guy's music, especially since he sounds confused. Lance stares up at the ceiling for a moment before calling out, "Was that really you singing, Keith?"

He pauses, considers biting his tongue, and quickly shuts his mouth. Keith and him had only been neighbours for a few months and somehow their interactions had always been marred by someone shoving their foot squarely in their mouth. Even with his foot injured and propped up, Lance still has the ability to do that still.

He waits for an answer but no answer comes. There's a shake through the wall and steps outside, but nothing else. Lance slumps down to the couch and throws his head back. "Fantastic," he mumbles to himself, "Now what?" He stares over the room, considering his utter lack of quality reading material, the already overused remote, and the sparse emptiness of his rather tiny apartment. There is nothing to do.

A knock at the door answers him. It's quick, a short rap on the screen, distinctive. Three short bursts of it repeat. If Lance is right, it's his neighbour coming over to ask what the fuck is going on. If he's hopefully wrong, it's Hunk come to entertain him with something interesting, like a handjob.

When he opens the door, he can't pretend he's not disappointed. The look on Keith's face tells him he isn't hiding it very well either. "Hello... Keith." He's cautious as he talks, not sure how to read the oddly calm and focused look on the face before him. "You hear me then?" He smiles awkwardly and blinks the moment he realises that his knock might not have been the only thing he's heard.

"There something you want Lance?" He looks pained. His shoulders might be slouched and his face smiling, but he looks almost uncomfortable standing right outside his door. Keith likely has been working on something important. "Not sure why you're knocking on my wall, but if you want me to stop then--"

"No, no, no, it's good." Lance gestures as best he can by the door while still clinging to it. His foot hovers in the air and he tenses his body to maintain balance. Thank god he's had the training to do this, even if he is woefully out of practice now. "I mean, I want to hear more of it. You should play it here."

Keith's eyebrows draw together. He blinks for a few moments, staring over Lance's shoulder and then back at Lance. "Are you sure you're okay?" He leans his head forward as if he's not sure if he'll be heard. He's still just as rigid and awkward as always. "I've been meaning to check on you because you've been..."

Lance clears his throat and interrupts, "Been what?" He takes his own turn to pull faces, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder to work out exactly what Keith is staring at. There can't really be anything that interesting back there. It's just the couch and a TV.

"Odd... more than usual," Keith adds. He did himself no favours. He's hardly a normal guy himself, always in his apartment making noises, musical noises at least, and leaving the lights on all through the night. It's a wonder to Lance that he manages to sleep at all. Then he is calling Lance odd.

"I've heard all sorts of banging and curses and..." Keith continues, smiling, shrugging, finding a place in his pockets for his hands to hide how they keep fidgeting. "If you need to work things out, I understand, but can you not do it against the wall, please...?" His nervous laugh wheezes out of his throat. He's so awkward about Lance making noise for some reason. There's no reason why he would--

"Oh, _ohhhh,_ " Lance can't help but speak up when the realisation hits him. With all of his rolling around and whining about the TV and making all sorts of noise, it's no wonder Keith thought Lance was being a different kind of active. He's been asked to tone down on his activities before so it's no big deal, but when he actually wasn't doing anything sexual in the least, it's hilarious.

Keith, however, doesn't seem to get the humour and instead stares while Lance starts laughing. "What's funny?" he asks, more statement than question, genuinely confused. His feet start shuffling awkwardly. He doesn't know how he's supposed to hold himself after standing at someone's door for so long.

Lance laughs harder and tries to dismiss Keith's concern with a wave of his hand. "That was just me," he explains with a shrug of his own while leaning against the door. Yet the moment the words leave his mouth, Keith's face however looks horrified. "No! Not that. I'm not that-- Anyway, I'm bored and maybe have taken to some new... exercising regimes."

Keith peers down to the door of his apartment then back again, possibly considering an exit strategy. He crosses his arms and rests his weight on his back foot. Everything about him is asking why he's even here. Lance hasn't said anything to clarify that.

"Look, point is, I am going mad in here." Lance tries his best to gesture at his foot, wobbling in place while his other hand clings to the door itself. "I can barely walk, and I didn't know you played, so you should bring it over." It's a jumbled mess as it comes out of his mouth but he's beyond caring. He just wants to hear music and have some company. Seems pretty simple.

A long silence follows as Keith considers Lance, Lance's apartment, and the inner workings of his mind. He says nothing until he takes one deep breath and crosses his arms. "If you get us take out, deal." With an expectant and slightly worried smile, he tilts his head.

"Deal," Lance declares and hobbles back to his couch. While he flips through his phone for the best place for midday delivery, Keith slips off to his apartment and returns with his guitar. They settle on the couch, awkward at first until Keith gets into a song he wrote. The rest follows as naturally as Lance takes to dance, and as Keith, apparently, takes to song.

Keith makes an effort to sing louder or not keep himself quiet in the following days, now that he knows Lance is listening. It helps Lance feel much less alone, but the thought of Hunk is never far away. His phone is the closest he has to being hear Hunk during his recovery. The texts he sends start as sweet messages asking how Hunk is, sharing how his housebound adventures are going, reading about Hunk's job in turn.

Yet the more frustrated and lonely Lance becomes, even with Keith right next door, the more he asks Hunk to visit, to bring him food, to rub his feet, to rub anywhere else. He needs that familiar touch, the warmth of his hands, the sound of his laugh, especially the one Lance knows he's making as he laughs off all of his requests.

Hunk's messages are short, explaining that he's tired, busy, and sorry. There's so many things Lance wants to say, yet he can't bring himself to call when he's so lonely like this. He can't help but write more, send more, adding emojis and gifs, and eventually teases of his own skin. Until Lance sends just one more.

' _My place. Friday. Come and I'll be all over your ass ;)_ ' Lance's heart races when he sends it. A risky move if he's ever made one, and realistically he's made plenty. Though the idea of Hunk coming over on Friday after being apart for so long has his whole body tingling at the idea. His foot's feeling so much better at the thought alone.

Hunk's reply is quick. ' _Oh, I'll be coming_ '. The words play across the top of Lance's screen before disappearing. He taps into his messages just to be sure and there, right by Hunk's icon, is the same message. It's real. He's actually coming over.

More days pass and Lance rests and tests his foot more ardently than before. If Hunk's coming over, he wants to be able to walk, and everything else he's been unable to do for weeks. Hunk's own insistence on staying away and being busy makes it feel so much longer than it is.

But then the day comes where he finally gets it to a place where he can put weight on it. Perfect. Not that Lance is expecting anything in particular exactly with Hunk coming over, but he's entirely keen on putting his face wherever Hunk wants it, and then some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. They keep me motivated and excited to write the next chapter so please keep them coming!!
> 
> You can find me on twitter as @particlebarrier.


	10. Anything Can Happen Anywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After what feels like forever, Lance gets a visit from Hunk and things end up a lot different than they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I know it's been ages... It's been so hard to get back into the swing of things with writing. I've been really struggling with it, but I am hoping that now I've finished this one that the next will be easier!

Friday finally arrives and all Lance can think of is what'll happen when Hunk gets there. While he takes time in his shower, washes his hair, scrubs his skin smooth, he imagines his hand fitting perfectly into Hunk's, and exactly where he could put it. In the end, all he wants is Hunk's company, his attention, his embrace. Lance's been waiting for far too many days already.

When Hunk knocks on the door, Lance half-limps half-sprints across his apartment. His hand almost slides off the doorknob in his hurry. He struggles to maintain a flat tone when he swings it open to say "Hi". Leaning against the door frame dramatically, hand sliding up as it slips, he completely ignores the fact he's starting to fall.

Hunk assesses him with a judgemental smirk. "That doesn't look as cool as you think it does." He gestures at Lance's posture with a hint of sympathy. His face can't hide his amusement, nor his regular, content demeanour, like sunshine always peaks through regardless. Standing there on Lance's doorstep, he appears fresh and well-dressed in a green checkered shirt and grey cargo pants.

Lance stands straight with a push off the wall. He can thankfully balance on two feet now, so long as he doesn't place too much weight on his sore foot. "Don't ruin my dreams." He pulls a face somewhere between raising his eyebrows and smirking and trying not to laugh. He knows he's not particularly successful, but his cheek comes through and that's all that matters.

"Of being cool?" Hunk asks as he pushes past. He gives the apartment a brief inspection, turning around once he finds nothing of particular interest. A smirk creeps across his face like he’s found the exact verbal jab he needs. "You're admitting that you're not 'cool'?"

Lance's mouth drops open. Hunk has him there. Not that he doesn't try to be cool, but achieving that is an entirely different ball game. He isn't about to admit that though. "I didn't say that." Lance closes the door with a huff and gestures some kind of circle with his hand while he tries to come up with something. "I'm totally..."

"Too cool for me then. Shame," Hunk mocks with a smug look on his face. He throws his hands up, defeated, turning around and starting to head towards the exit. "Can't stay long now." He pouts and shakes his head, seemingly disappointed.

"No! That's not-- I didn't mean--" Lance rambles. "I'm..." He notices the growing smile on Hunk's face. Fuck him and his sense of humour. Lance pushes himself up against Hunk, hands feeling across that broad chest, taking in that warmth behind his cotton shirt. "I have plans," he begs. Where Lance means to sound sexy and enticing, trying to be seductive, he sounds more needy. All that time alone has gotten to him. "Stay."

Hunk chuckles, licking his teeth as he exaggerates his consideration. "I don't know if I'm worthy, Your Coolness. You sure you want this?" Hunk's hands press Lance's against his chest. He makes sure with his firm grip that Lance can’t miss a single inch of him, and it works.

Despite Hunk's heavy frame and the give in his skin, Lance can feel the firm muscle beneath. "I fucking  _ invited _ you, so no, I'm good. I'll just do more flexibility training until I can suck my  _ own _ dick." Lance squeezes Hunk's chest and tilts his head with a shrug of his shoulders. He doesn’t need Hunk to stay, but he totally does. There’s no denying that.

Hunk stares, part impressed, part surprised. "Can I watch?" His eyebrows raise, but his amused and mocking smile is still there. This is a joke to him. He’s literally laughing at Lance for all of this without a hint of hesitation. He’s loving this.

"Fuck off." Lance hits Hunk's chest. He really can't stand not touching him and puts his hands back a second later. It’s been far too long. It’s been lonely and painful, quite literally even. Lance needs the company or so help him he might have to be desperate about it. More so than he is usually at least.

Hunk smiles softly with a chuckle and leans to kiss Lance's neck. His breath is so warm that Lance can’t believe he’s gone so long without it. Hunk’s voice only makes it worse when he adds quietly and sincerely, "I've missed you."

Lance shivers. His eyes close for a second to savour the sound, but now his body feels like it’s been set alight. Warmth flickers in him, licking up his chest, curling around him so tightly that he has to say _something_. "Bedroom. Now." It comes out sharp, commanding, and impatient. He can't wait anymore.

In a sudden change Hunk raises his hands up in mock defeat and walks to Lance's bedroom, muttering, "I missed you too, Hunk. I'm so happy to see you, Hunk." He peeks over his shoulder with a smirk and a raised brow, making a point of strutting his way to the room. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Lance follows with a shake of his shoulders, frowning despite the smile just behind his lips, needing to have some kind of defiance. "Hey!" His voice practically squeaks, giving him nothing to defend himself. His voice is quiet when they get to his room. "You know I did..."

Hunk crawls onto the bed and rolls over. He’s blatant, grin on his face, eyes glimmering with mischief. Hands behind his head, Hunk grins wider, challenging Lance still standing at the foot of the bed. "You're going to have to show me."

"Yeah?" Lance raises a brow and purses his lips to hide his own smirk. He follows soon after, crawling onto the bed slowly, staring Hunk down. He’s entirely following along with this to see how it goes. All he wants is Hunk’s undivided attention and this seems a reasonable way to get it. Thankfully he doesn’t have to beg.

Hunk nods and sighs, stretching and spreading his legs apart. He’s not holding anything back it seems. "Uh huh... how else will I know how much you missed me?" His eyes fill with a look that begs for Lance to approach, encouraging him to move just a little bit closer. His whole body looks inviting.

Lance bites his lip and knows exactly what he’s going to do. Crawling forward, he moves like a cat, exaggerating his shoulders, humming low as he looks over Hunk's thighs. His hands grab them tight. Holding them in position, Lance nods up and gives Hunk direction, "Take off your shirt." He smiles to himself when Hunk moves to follow his order without question.

When Lance glimpses Hunk's chest hair, he quickly and haphazardly strips himself of all his clothes. He can’t get them off fast enough. Each piece slumps to the floor by the bed, one after another. Once he’s completely naked, practically trembling with excitement, he kneels between Hunk's legs, panting.

Hunk laughs, a mixture of nerves and excitement. "Do you want the honours?" he asks with a shrug of his broad shoulders. His hips twitch up, asking in their own way. His whole body is laid out, presented like a platter for Lance to take his pick of and work his way through. Hunk’s eyes are already dark with intent. "Or shall I?"

Lance doesn't let him answer and does it himself. His fingers practically fumble to get under the hem. It's like opening a gift just for him, one he's been waiting for, knowing full well what lies within the wrapping. It’s a moment both familiar and new, similar and yet so different to what they’ve both done before. The promise of more feels thrilling.

Hunk's breath catches as he watches Lance remove the last of his clothes, the moment drawn out, skimming so lightly across his skin. "Sh-shit." Both of them are already hard from the touching alone. Hunk bites his lip and stares down at his dick, standing exposed and begging for attention. "Do.. do you have...?" Hunk starts to ask, eyes lingering on Lance's crotch.

"Under the pillow." Lance nods and points to behind Hunk's head. He takes the moment to glance down at his own dick, which bobs slightly as he shuffles forward on his knees. He’s so ready, so eager, trying not to get too caught up in the fantasies he’s played in his head. The ideas of touching and moaning have long sat in his head and now that reality seems to be presenting itself much like Hunk’s dick before him.

Reaching beneath the pillow under his head, Hunk grabs several condoms and a bottle of lube out with a fumbling grasp. "You're prepared…” He pulls a face and stares at the collection in his hand, watching as condoms fall from his palm to the bed. “Do you have these all around the house too?" Hunk takes a few moments to squint suspiciously at the objects around the room.

Lance huffs at Hunk's joking and snatches away the condoms and lube from him. Try as he might he’s not particularly successful at grabbing them all, and quickly snatches the mess in short bursts until it’s piled to the side. "So what if I do?" He picks one and pops it beside his knee. It’ll be useful soon enough.

"Seriously?" Hunk chuckles louder. Despite the hint of disbelief in his voice, everything about the way he holds himself says he’s not completely surprised. Seems he’s managed to know more than enough about him to find condoms tucked here and there not entirely out of Lance’s wheelhouse. That in itself is some kind of achievement, probably.

Lance whines out a nervous excuse. "You never know, dude. Anything can happen anywhere." It’s not entirely impractical. Though perhaps more eager than Lance has ever had any right to be. He’s had his fair share of one night stands and brief encounters with others to know he is best prepared for anything, anywhere.

Hunk looks up in disbelief. "Even in the kitchen?" His face held an expression of amusement, lips open as if to say more. Though despite the look on his face, he held no judgement. Hunk likely couldn’t hold his judgement without some considerable reason. Condoms in the kitchen doesn't qualify.

"Especially the kitchen." Lance moves forward to grab and push apart Hunk's thighs, sliding between them. His movement is as smooth as he can manage, every muscle tensing to look cool and considerably less nervous than he feels. His eyes drop to Hunk’s crotch while he opens the bottle of lube and he can’t help the images that conjure in his mind. "It gets pretty hot in there."

"Are you sure we're still talking about the kitchen?" Hunk stares at the way Lance works lube over his fingers. He bites his bottom lip and relaxes his shoulders. His breathing is heavy and slow, like he’s savouring every moment. His legs brace themselves, heels into the bed for a moment before he completely relaxes at Lance's gaze.

"You tell me." Lance leans in close and dips his fingers down behind Hunk's balls, slipping them down until the man's breath hitches. He's trying so hard to keep his hand steady, to not say something stupid that will make the big guy tense. He manages simply by focusing on the promise of what's to come. Hopefully both of them.

"L-Lance," Hunk groans in a mixture of warning and arousal. He loses the next word he;s about to say when Lance slips in the first finger. His eyes close and his head tilts back. For how big he is, Lance adores how soft he is when he's enjoying himself.

"That's my name," Lance teases with grin, watching Hunk's expression change with every curl of a finger inside him. Moving slowly, he tests gentle thrusts, focusing on getting more reactions, and then he adds another finger beside the first.

Hunk groans at the sensation, pushing his legs further apart. "This part... of your plan?" Despite the playfulness in his tone, he's already struggling to piece words together. His smile forms around sighs and moans, eyes straining to stay open, gazing over the curve of his chest and his stomach.

"Part of it." Lance isn't about to give it all away. He's imagined what he wants to do so many times by now, each scene played through his mind twice over. All of which involves making Hunk as spent and as happy as the man has made him.

Hunk starts bucking against Lance's fingers. Slick, wet sounds cut in between his shallow breaths. "M-more?" Hunk asks with his eyes closed. He's gorgeous like this, weak to Lance's touch, no hint of concern or worry in any part of him. It sets a tingling warmth through Lance's chest that he's the one responsible.

"Already?" Lance chokes an answer back. He isn't sure what he expected, but certainly not for Hunk to become so needy so quickly. _Fuck_. Lance bites his lip and answers Hunk's request with yet another finger, working him open slowly. Every sound that Hunk makes fascinates him. For a moment it hits Lance that this man, who is so sweet and so strong, not only happens to be letting him finger him, but is his  _ boyfriend _ too.

With a deep growl in his chest, Lance removes his fingers and immediately replaces them with several quick warm flicks of his tongue. Lance can feel his own warm breath as he works his tongue up and down, drawing every sound out of Hunk that he can. All it took was a few suggestive messages back and forth in their time apart and he couldn't shake the idea from his mind. He loves every moment.

Hunk's breath catches, gasping when Lance buries his face in with enthusiasm. He can't remember the last time he had rimmed someone, where there'd been enough trust and interest to be tested, where the conversation fit in as easily as their teasing. Yet with Hunk it felt effortless and continues to be in the act itself, every movement, every flick of his tongue, providing a pleasant sense of satisfaction when Hunk reacts.

"Lan _nnhhhhh_ ," Hunk starts and falls back into another moan. His eyes open for a moment, lips parted, head titled back. He's so vulnerable. His body shudders and his toes curl then his eyes close again, like anything more than touch might overwhelm him so much more than he is already.

"Yeah?" Lance teases with a laugh before diving back in again. He muffles his other teases with Hunk's ass, smirking against his warm skin. He can barely see Hunk's face from here so he works with the noises and movements his boyfriend makes. Lance still can't believe he can actually call him that.

Hunk can barely focus or thread words together coherently, but he manages a few, "You.. uh.. gonna..? f _uck_.." His voice cracks when Lance pauses and pulls away. Dismay twists his features into something yearning, desperate, begging with every part of him that can speak for him while he's speechless.

Lance mouths against Hunk's thighs, licking and teasing as he crawls up Hunk's body, dragging his tongue up the underside of Hunk's dick. "Gonna what?" Lance continues to kiss up the man's chest. There's so much of that soft, squishable terrain to cover.

Hunk looks somewhere between frustrated and ready to throttle Lance at his teasing, even with a smile still sitting on the edge of his lips. Lance doesn't know if he's harder from what he plans to do or the look in Hunk's eyes that hint at what he's thinking of doing himself.

"Stop _teasing_ me," Hunk groans and bucks up his hips, nudging Lance forward so he can steal a kiss with a satisfied hum. He smirks with a sense of satisfaction before it falls from his face and he adds, quite serious, "Get _on_ with it."

Lance clears his throat and huffs out of his nose. "Fine, fine." A cheeky grin takes to his features and he pats Hunk's thighs. "Roll over." Hunk grunts and judges Lance with a raised eyebrow, but follows the instruction without complaint and spreads his legs with a hip wiggle.

Lance takes a moment to run his hands down Hunk's back, feeling how easily his skin moves at the touch, the give beneath his fingers. Hunk is warm and breathing heavily, rubbing himself impatiently against the sheets. Lance can't look away as he fumbles for a condom.

" _Lance_ ," Hunk whines then muffles his voice with a pillow he pulls to his face. His body tenses and fingers claw into the pillow as he waits. His hips stop and start, his need driving his body to move itself for its own release.

Lance hasn't paid much attention to himself, but he's already hard. He gives his dick with a few firm strokes before sliding on the condom. With a quick hand, he favours himself a few more pumps, working lube over his cock and sighing at the sight of Hunk laying before him.

Lance presses forward to rub his dick over Hunk's ass. He is really doing this. They're really doing this. Hunk looks _so_ good like this. "You, uh, ready?" Lance asks while nerves play with ability to speak and he teases Hunk with just the tip of his cock.

Hunk pushes back against him, ass rising up in answer. His voice is breathy and low when he finally responds, "Yeah. Long past ready." He looks it too. His arms brace against the bed while his head rests against a pillow. He's relaxing into position and letting it all happen.

Lance grips onto Hunk's hips tight, adjusting his own and sliding his cock back and forth. He teases Hunk for as long as he can endure. Lance would _love_ continue to tease him, but he's too desperate, needs this as much as Hunk does. So without further hesitation, he moves into position, huffing and pressing in slow to hear Hunk's moans.

Awkwardly poised over Hunk's legs, he leans forward to get a better angle. Lance lets out a series of moans as he slides in further. Lance knows how warm Hunk is, always is, but this is different, hotter. He squeezes harder at Hunk's ass as he moves his hips just enough to bottom out.

" _Shit_ ," Lance chokes out. He closes his eyes and for a moment he can only hear their heavy breathing. His body's on fire, warmth licking up his limbs. Hot doesn't even begin to describe how he feels, how _good_ Hunk feels, how his hands seem to belong on those curves.

Hunk groans, " _Good_. I'm good, _so_ good." His body melts at Lance's touch, sighing at the lightest movement of a thumb or a finger. It's like his whole body is tingling, simmering, waiting for something to ignite within him too.

"Move?" Lance manages to ask before he needs to bite into his lip. He wants to move, desperately, and make Hunk completely breathless. He's not about to push the guy. They've been waiting for this moment, both of them know it, both of them can feel it. Not simply giving into urges is the hardest thing of all.

Hunk struggles to look over his shoulder, just lifting his head from the pillow. "Move.  _ Please _ move." His muscle tense and relax. He alternates between harsh impatient breaths to slow deep inhales, wordlessly begging for more.

Lance doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs onto Hunk's skin, finds the best handle he can find with blind need, and starts to buck faster, grunting in his earnest efforts.

Hunk responds with loud approval, groaning at every thrust back in. "Fu- _fuck_." He moves back against Lance, gripping his fingers into the sheets, snatching up as much fabric as his big hands can grasp. "Faster, _har_ der."'

"Whatever you want, big man," Lance chuckles back. Desperate for approval, Lance does exactly as Hunk wants and thrusts faster and harder, huffing between each one. Every move is jerky. Lance takes his turn to make noise, whining and moaning and gasping at the sporadic bursts of movement. Hunk can only hum back.

It's all sweat and sound as Lance works his hips, harder, faster, everything Hunk asked for, getting him closer, so close, hot and aching. He'd imagined this moment and while it's different, it's so much more than he thought it would be. Encouraged by the sounds in the room, Lance humps faster and _faster_ , clawing into Hunk's thick thighs and shuddering at the way his fingertips sink in. He's ready, so ready. _Fuck_.

Lance gives it next best few thrusts, but he comes with a weak, pathetic cry, shaking and collapsing forward over Hunk's back. "Hhh _hnnggg_." His body twitches. Nerves set alight engulfed in a swirl of smoke before the fire is snuffed out completely. He's all but melted wax now.

Hunk pauses, propping himself up despite Lance's weight on his back. His voice is high, confused and concerned, when he asks, "Did you just...?" He tries his best to turn his head and focus his amused and frustrated gaze on Lance's face. He sighs and wriggles his body as if to confirm his suspicions.

Lance nods his head against Hunk's sweat drenched back. "Sorry!" Lance apologises with a high-pitched croak, embarrassed that he didn't even get that far and he's already spent. "I already came." He feels small next to Hunk already but this... takes the feeling to a whole new level.

Hunk exhales. No other sound follows for a moment. It's not shaky or tinted by anything else. Lance can't tell if he's laughing or simply frustrated. "Seriously?" Completely dumbfounded, he falls back down to the bed. The hint of disappointment clear in his tone.

"I-- It was-- fuck. _Sorry_." Rambling isn't helping him. He’s gone and done himself in so fast before they’ve even begun. It's not even been that long. They've barely done anything. Now he's gone and burst the bubble. Way to go, Lance. Way to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. Most also serve as writer fuel. Never underestimate the power of writer fuel.
> 
> If you'd like to read more, feel free to subscribe as I have the next few chapters already outlined and partly written, OR read ahead in the [super long twitter thread](https://twitter.com/particlebarrier/status/783887865759404032).
> 
> You can find me on [@particlebarrier](http://twitter.com/particlebarrier).


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